Thorny Roses Falling Wilted to the Ground
by Vine Verrine
Summary: Or 'Peace of mind'. The only option was admiration from afar. To look surreptitiously from under his lashes until he had Snape's image imprinted in his brain, hoping this crush would go away once his heart realised it was a pointless attachment...
1. Between the Sword and the Wall

**Title:** Thorny Roses Falling Wilted to the Ground.

**Complete summary:** ( or 'Peace of Mind') The only option was admiration from afar. To look surreptitiously from under his lashes until he had Snape's image imprinted in his brain, hoping this crush would go away once his heart realised it was a pointless attachment.

**Word Count:** 9,030.

**Chapter:** (1/3)

**Themes:** Introspection, denial.

**Genres:** Romance...uhh.

**Warnings:** Do I have to? I think it's quite obvious.

**Beta:** I would give a standing, thunderous applause to **YenGirl** for the masterful, gorgeous polishing of this story. She actually made it look _pretty_. So, so pretty. English is not my native language, so you've got to understand what it really means for me to have her there and watch over the story and the whole process. She supported me, stood by me, gave me advice, and most importantly, bore with me at my worst.

**Dedication:** To YenGirl, this story wouldn't even have reached a "draft stage" if not because of her suggestion for me to finally write a Snarry story. I've been a fan of them for over four to five years now, but she has been the one to make me finally write something _of my own_. Let's say she was the end to my procrastination. This also goes to the numerous, talented, breath-taking Snarry authors I've met along these amazing years.

**Notes:** Originally, this was going to be a little Valentine's fic, but I can't seem to hold myself back and it ended up being a monstrosity instead. One I have to say I'm rather fond of. This was supposed to be published on February Fourteenth, but Real Life didn't let me finish this until a few days ago. The fic is 31k+ words, but I had to split it, as per **YenGirl'**s wise advice.

This story's main conflict is not Valentine's Day anymore, but I do write about it.

Any mistakes left are my own.

* * *

><p><strong><em><span>Chapter 1.<span>_**

**_Between the Sword and The Wall._**

It was very innocent, innocuous and vague. And now Harry couldn't stop thinking about it. It was practically eating at him, the curiosity borne of a very simple sentence.

"You know… the Prince kind of sounds like Professor Snape".

The three of them had been searching for the elusive identity behind the Half-Blood Prince and had come up with no satisfying answers. It had taken a considerable amount of research, and every single idea was later met with the same outcome: none of them felt it fitting. The only lead they had was that stringy young girl in that newspaper clipping and the three of them had agreed that the Prince was male, as per his nickname.

"Hermione, do you really think Snape is the Prince?"

Harry added a little bit of disgust to his voice; he didn't know why though.

They were having lunch outside, down a tranquil path close to the lake. The three of them had nicked some food and gone to sit down in the scratchy grass, taking advantage of the rare fine day. It was still very cold, being January, but the sky was clear and the weather not as harsh. Hermione had made the snow vanish from the little circle they were in, and she had cast on a strong warming charm around the area. A little brown and green space amidst a sea of white.

"Well, I would know for sure if you just let me read the book, Harry. I swear you look as if you were a jealous boy dating it whenever I get close enough to read".

Harry gaped at her. He hoped that she didn't mean that, but she just kept on eating, looking completely serious.

Ron snickered, but quickly looked down at his apple pie when Harry glared at him. He couldn't possibly look like that, could he, thought Harry to himself. Surely Hermione was exaggerating…

Her approximation had come from nowhere, or nowhere given his and Ron's incapability of keeping up with her thought process. It had been uttered just after today's admittedly interesting DADA lesson. Snape had been – like other days – quite the poet since obtaining the Defence teaching post; his love for the Dark Arts in particular provided an avenue for him, offering a world of fascination and beauty by way of ingenuously crafted words.

Obviously, Hermione was the only one to consider every possible angle and come to the conclusion that the bat of the dungeons was the Half-Blood Prince. If it weren't for her Harry was sure he wouldn't have come to that hypothesis himself.

Neither Hermione nor Ron spared much thought to that casual approximation, chatting of other things and then bickering amongst themselves between the corridors and when taking food from the Great Hall.

Meanwhile, during the long trek from the hall to outside of the castle, Harry had that single sentence dance around his brain at alarming speed. He had pondered and speculated about it, coming up with a wave of different answers inside his mind, tumultuous and disorganised. He had poked at them and rolled them up in his mind, kind of as if he were a cat playing with a ball of twine. He decided he was not capable of approaching that ball yet, the notion so exciting and dangerous his right foot didn't land properly on one of the steps leading out of the castle, causing him to tumble down the rest of them, much to Ron's delight.

That made Harry forget (momentarily) the 'Prince being Snape' related thoughts on his mind. Hermione helped him up and he hit Ron on the head.

They got to their resting spot and started snacking on the assortment of foods they had laid down on the grass, Harry coming to a decision to approach that bundle of ideas later, when he was not in danger of making a fool of himself. He knew something was wrong with his distraction, because his two friends continued eating, discarding the idea as mere coincidence.

He knew that Hermione hadn't read much of the Prince's book; with him looking like he wanted to bite her hand off if she dared to get close to it for longer than a few minutes, she was reduced to reading the scribbled words over his shoulder. Then he would glare at her, feeling a particular kind of impatience. He supposed that was what had led to her comment about the jealous boyfriend.

Harry had to grudgingly admit to himself that he was quite…territorial when it came to the book. Since Hermione didn't have the time to analyse the notes inside it, her suspicions hadn't reached a concrete place. Harry decided he was better off she didn't read anymore of it. He still didn't know why the discretion, but he preferred it that way.

**-0-**

A few weeks later, Harry practically forgot about Hermione's words. However, the mere implication of them were still at the back of his mind, lurking there.

Because Snape wasn't handling Potions anymore, Harry had no problem displacing the thought of his sour professor with the more pleasant one of following the Prince's instructions. He could almost ignore the fact that the distorted, unknown voice he had given the Prince had been replaced with the cultured, cold and soft tones from Snape.

He realised he felt slightly lightheaded just reading those handwritten words, and had to pinch himself to clear the tingling in his brain.

When class ended, Harry again got much praise for his potion while Hermione fumed under her breath, second best, but still somewhat sore at not being the first.

They went out of the classroom and walked briskly towards the south wing to the DADA classroom. Hermione wouldn't admit it, but she was quite competitive, and not getting first place in the class made her sulk and thus, walk like a demented lady. Harry teased her a bit while they were walking but then, after a while, feeling bad, he offered to carry her books. He threw in a bashful look there for good measure. Hermione glared at him before giving in to his sunny smile, rolling her eyes and hitting his arm.

Nearing the corridor where their classmates were milling about outside the classroom, it was now Harry's turn to roll his eyes when Ron's gaze landed on the extra schoolbag hanging off his right shoulder. Ron pouted, taking the bag from him and huffing. Hermione had her mouth pursed, trying not to grin.

The moment was interrupted by Snape gliding down the stone floor, his steps silent and his boots obscured by the long, dark robes he wore.

Harry hadn't noticed before, but there was a strange glow the Professor emanated, his skin looking peculiar. Harry thought it was because of the direct light entering through the windows, the sun warm and hitting off the man's robes which weren't actually black, but a very deep, forest green. It was weird to see Snape in some other place but the Great Hall or the Dungeons in broad daylight. He almost looked like a different person when his face wasn't reflecting the dim, dank and green light of his usual underground lair.

In fact, it was weird that Harry was actually noticing all of that.

Snape entered the classroom with a literal bang and Harry's head snapped towards the door, wincing. All the students waiting outside didn't waste a moment to follow the man, getting stuck in their haste to enter the classroom before Snape closed the door, almost always hitting the last, unfortunate student. This time it was Harry's turn, his momentary bafflement harmful to his hindquarters. He had just managed to plaster himself behind Seamus when the door hit him from behind. He went to sit with some pain in his bum, sticking his tongue out when Ron looked at him with playful mirth.

Bloody prat.

In front of the room now and ready for class, Snape started on one of his poetic spiels, managing to make Harry's head spin because it sounded more like babble spewed in some other language. It was quite invigorating though, even if it made him feel stupid, half of the words alien to his ears. Snape however, was not one to drag things out, and after five minutes of Harry just looking at his chin move up and down, he started to speak of the actual material they would be covering that day. Harry shook his head free of its torpor.

"Protective shields, while useful in battle, can be an impediment when casting independent spells and curses inside one. Instinct at the time of battle, often reliable, seems to meet a blind point when people often forget that most common shielding charms contain rebounding properties both inside the shield and out of it. Bear in mind that we have already spoken of shields that can adjust to a desirable size, but even those have met with negative results. Statistically speaking, at least thirty per cent…"

Harry tried to pay attention after that. He really did. It wasn't until Snape started getting more flowery in his explanation, moving on to list some rather gruesome examples of people hexing themselves by accident that Harry's attention wavered. Instead of the lecture, it started deciphering the feel of the words uttered by the Professor's mouth.

He just couldn't help it, leaning slightly forwards, as if getting closer would magnify his understanding. He was not the only one. Most of the boys were interested in the graphic details of those horrible accidents. It was certain that Snape explained only to intimidate them, but the twists and turns he made in his speech rendered the description more intriguing than scary.

Harry, thoughtful, got the similarity to the Prince's words then.

The subtle threat in his speech, the promise of unimaginable things, a certain depth hidden behind the practicality of his words.

That huge ball of exciting ideas and possibilities from before, long forgotten, resurfaced with a vengeance, turning dark and upsetting. Harry's stomach flipped upside down. He scratched at his desk, feeling suddenly anxious and full of trepidation. He knew there was no danger right now, but he couldn't help the feeling of something disastrous coming his way. Having read the book, having breathed it, eaten with it, slept with it… He didn't know about speech patterns or poetic metre, but he really didn't have to. The answer was standing right here, talking and overall simply existing.

"I already covered this last week. I expect you have practiced and exercised those meagre brain cells dancing around in that pheromone infested grey mass you call a brain."

So curse Hermione, because she was always right... always damned right, all the fucking time.

Harry couldn't help turning his head towards her, glaring discreetly; upset despite knowing it wasn't her fault. He didn't even know why he was blaming her and what the problem was, he just knew he felt a little bit mad right now. Wanted to shout and scratch at something.

Harry sighed mentally, relaxing his fingers and turning his head towards the front again. He knew he was being unreasonable for no reason at all. He knew this anger had no reason to exist and yet, it was nagging him, poking at his mind, demanding to be addressed.

Reluctant and ruffled, he started listening to Snape again, very willing to let those inquiries go unanswered at the moment. He managed to guard those spinning thoughts deep inside him; the prospect of Snape catching him off guard being the final push to calm him. He would deal with this later.

Much later.

"Now, there are Shielding Spells that deal with more advanced Air Magic. One in specific: 'Prevenum Animae'. Fairly advanced and taxing for the wizard if one is not a container of a certain amount of magic. This one is constructed to go beyond the mere Shield, stretching as far as the capability of the wizard or witch casting the spell. It doesn't just become protection, but a sensor as well. It contains a much more carefully crafted and detailed magical structure, able to differentiate between the magical core of the caster of the Shield and his or her opponent."

Good thing Harry did pay attention then, because the theory behind this spell sounded bloody amazing.

Forgetting about those annoying emotions, upsetting thoughts gave way to more pleasant ones.

"The Shield becomes an entity, your right hand if you will, fully capable of feeling the magical cores around it. The function of this Shield transforms in an instant; in the blink of an eye; transfiguring the very essence of its structure to deflect opponent's curses, while allowing the curses of the original caster to pass through. All of these are dependable variables; its reflexes, strength and durability directly in proportion to the caster."

Now Harry was getting excited about it. He could just imagine himself in a battle with a powerful barrier around him, deflecting curses left and right while he walked on, invincible, surrounded by multi-coloured hexes from his opponents. From past experiences, it was very probable that he would find himself in a similar situation again.

Now he didn't feel so good about that.

The interest was almost palpable in the air; the students' eyes widened, pupils dilated, reflecting curious minds and endless possibilities. Animated, sweaty and trembling hands were ready to pounce on nearby wands to perform the spell. The air was heavy with thoughts and outcomes, all of them adventurous in nature.

"Alas, that is magic far too advanced for you. The making of the Shield demands the concentration most of you could only wish to possess, and the Arithmancy behind it is delicate, frail, explosive and potentially dangerous if not well handled. I can honestly put your minds at rest and foretell that your incapability of paying attention will not allow you anywhere near an Arithmancy problem with inclination on Advanced Air magic. Instead, we are going to use a much more practical Protection Spell. While simpler, it has its respectable difficulties. It would be advisable if you put your feeble neurons to concentrate on this, because it's going to be on the practical exam of your N.E.W.T.S"

It was with great restraint that the students managed to stay marginally quiet when Snape shot their expectations out of the air, onto floor and then stomped on them. If it had been Flitwick, shouts of outrage would have jumped off the walls. Still, the multiple disappointed groans were of great satisfaction for the Professor, his neutral expression obscured by a pinch of smugness slipping from his impassive mask.

He walked between the desks, two or three students barely having time to get their schoolbags out of the way.

There was ample space at the back of the classroom, containing just a few bookcases, almost all of them leaning against the stone walls, laden with musty, ancient books. Snape made his way to the sole bookcase lying in the middle of the space, small compared to the others, only coming up to his thighs. He bent down and picked it up, moving with careful steps because it looked so old. The bookcase began to protest, coughing up and rumbling down with hard, woody sounds, demanding for cheeky children to let it down, didn't they see it was comfortable where it was?

"Keep silent, you old thing," Snape grumbled, having to stop because the bookcase had starting shaking in his arms, trying to get down.

"Is that you, Severus? Blasted child you are, always getting in trouble. You haven't given me Moste Potente Defence Enchantments back, boy!"

There was a mixture of different reactions when the bookshelf began berating the Potions Master. There were snickers and looks of bewilderment. Some boys and girls even had to put a hand over their mouths to stifle their laughter when the bookshelf, as revenge, coughed so hard that some dust from its shelves went flying, creating a little grey cloud that covered the professor from his waist up.

The only thing Harry registered was that Snape, instead of using magic to move the bookshelf, had opted to carry it physically. Most strange.

When the bookshelf was finally placed in one of the corners in the classroom, Snape waved his wand to spell the grey specks away from his clothes, face and hair. Harry stared, seeing the lank and oily hair NOT being lank and oily. He hadn't had noticed it before, the air of the dispelling charm making it obvious. He supposed it looked shiny because Snape didn't have to teach Potions anymore and he wasn't seconded in the dank and putrid air of the underground floors.

Harry grimaced when the meaning of his silent appreciation poked him. He refused to acknowledge it. That previous anger bubbled up inside him again, but it was not directed at the man in front of him, it kind of felt as if he was reproaching himself.

"I want you to watch with as much attention as you are able, and memorise the spell." Having said that, Snape seemed to think something over, then he rolled his eyes, going again to the blackboard at the front of the classroom and writing "Corpus Contengo" in big, white letters, writing over them again to make them thicker. The students watched him go towards the front and back again, waiting for him to do something already.

"Corpus Contengo," he said clearly, pointing at himself and moving his wand in a wide arc, from the top of his head down to his feet. A shimmery, indigo light seemed to envelope him, disappearing as if sinking into his skin.

"Corner, come here." The boy in question looked at him for a moment before nodding, walking to stand in front of Snape.

"Back off, Corner. Put an appropriate distance between the two of us. Yes. Now, hex me".

Corner blinked hard, his mouth wide open. Everyone started whispering. Snape didn't have his wand raised, as was usually customary when performing a Shield Charm.

Michael blinked some more, watching Snape's face closing off into a sneer. "Don't be dumb, boy and throw a hex, a curse, anything! Do you think you could harm me? Now do it, whichever comes to mind."

There was still more blinking until hazel eyes hardened in resolve, taking on even a little bit of inspiration. Everyone looked on with envy. Imagine! Being able to hex Snape without the repercussions that would normally accompany it! The dark haired boy stood straight and pointed his wand directly at the professor's head, all the while trying to stave off a huge grin. In his hand lay the desire of half the student population, and it reflected in his bright, happy eyes.

"Diffindo!"

Everyone held their breath, looking on to see what would happen as the harsh sound of the spell hit Snape. Then, as if in slow motion, they saw the spell dissolve, dark robes lighting up briefly in the indigo light of the Shield. It was strange to see the distinct cutting appearance of Diffindo look like a mere puff of thin smoke. Snape's hair and robes flared as if in a wind, but nothing else happened apart from that.

"Throw another one."

This time Michael couldn't contain his grin.

**-0-**

Once class was over, everyone went out whispering and talking about the newest spell, chattering on and excited about the homework Snape had assigned. They would have to practice the spell until they were sure they could throw a more powerful hex without harming each other. They also had to look up the range of spells one could use the Protection Charm for.

"Remember we also have to look up the principles for the Prevenio Enchantment", Hermione enthused, eyes sparkly at the thought of exciting homework. Not that Hermione didn't find homework exciting, full stop.

"Way to ruin the mood, Hermione," Seamus grunted, throwing her an angry look. Ron glared, Harry himself glared too.

"You will still have to do the homework, Seamus, whether I tell you or not, so stop whining at me."

With that, the three boys' glares turned to stunned looks. Hermione did know how to defend herself, but she often let many things go unaddressed in favour of peace. Seamus stopped in his tracks and seemed to consider something; then he apologized with a sincere "Sorry" and went away, not without giving them a friendly look, trying to make a truce.

Harry turned his head to look at Ron while they walked towards the Great Hall. He could barely contain a smirk when he found glazed blue eyes looking adoringly at Hermione's curly hair. Harry shook his head, thinking it was so nice to have someone to like.

As if to interrupt his chain of thought in the most horrid of ways, a mental image of Snape surfaced in his mind, almost like an imaginary bat getting stuck in his hair, flapping wings hitting his face. It was blunt and vivid and too much strong. Harry balked but kept on walking, deep inside his thoughts and appraising the man's sudden appearance inside his head. He didn't realise they had turned to another hall and the toe of his shoe caught on the corner of the wall. His head hit Hermione's back and he ended up sprawled on the floor.

Ron grinned merrily, Hermione rubbed her back and they both helped Harry up. Students in the near vicinity laughed and Harry could feel his ears go ten different colours.

"Looks like someone's in love, Potter," chirped Michael Corner, who had been just behind them with his own Ravenclaw friends, also going in the direction of the Great Hall. They passed by him, snickering and teasing him with variations of Michael's initial statement. Harry stared at them, embarrassed, rattled and nervous. It was a very uncomfortable combination.

"What's up, Harry? You're clumsier than usual, mate," giggled Ron, picking up Harry's stuff from the floor and handing them to him.

"What do you mean clumsier than normal?" Harry pouted. Hermione and Ron just looked at each other and then back at him, smiling.

"You are so cute, Harry," Hermione said with a knowing expression.

Harry blinked in realisation. "You two believed Corner! I'm not in love with anybody!"

"Whatever you say, mate".

"Hey!"

**-0-**

After a while, Harry realised that Hermione and Ron were only teasing him. He had expected some sort of hint about their curiosity that same afternoon and then at night, but neither of them said anything more.

Harry was relieved just doing homework and talking lightly until they quietened to relax. Then, slowly, staring into the fire and deep in his thoughts, he felt some sort of tension brewing between his two friends. It was so palpable he started to feel he was intruding in some sort of moment he didn't belong in. He murmured something about going to bed, just to frown when neither of them paid him much attention, just nodding, going further and further inside a tight bubble of something he wasn't privy to.

He trudged up to the dormitory, feeling down by the new development between his friends, and while he knew, and had known for some time they still hadn't passed that crucial step from attraction to a romantic relationship, the string of their desires was getting so wound up and tight Harry had to step aside. This made him feel left out, watching from the outside, feeling distant from them. At that moment, walking up and literally getting away from them both, was when the true meaning of their attraction hit him square in the chest, and if he was feeling amused them before, he now felt a little bit lonely. He opened the door of the dormitory and buried himself in his blankets and comforters.

He wondered how that might feel; being inside a bubble of promises, immersed in a little world of him and that other person he had feelings for. His thoughts passed over Corner's question of that day, mulling it over, and he found himself side tracked from his morose feelings about his two best friends to the initial reason of why he had been hoping they did not ask more questions about this love business.

Harry shook his head.

Distracted, he sat up in bed and crawled to the foot of it, where his trunk lay. He lifted the lid open with care, afraid that someone would enter and see him. Pale hands brushed over his school material to close over the infamous Advanced Potion book. He had the feeling of it down to an exact science now, the roughness of the book familiar to his fingertips.

A faint feeling of excitement was bubbling up until he remembered that the chain of thoughts and ideas that had been making him trip all over the place these past few days had an origin here, within the well-thumbed pages of the book. He put it back in the trunk and flopped back onto the bed. He didn't see where his hands were going until his right one hit the edge of his nightstand hard.

Harry hissed in pain, looking at the red bruise forming on the back of his hand. This clumsiness was making him desperate and annoyed at the world, at Snape, at his friends, but most importantly, at himself.

After a while, much huffing and punching of pillows later; he lost the battle with himself.

An intense reading session later, he went to sleep with the book hidden under his mattress, the evidence of a filthy crime no longer in his trunk were everyone could see.

**-0-**

Days passed and Harry didn't find himself questioned by Ron and Hermione any more than necessary, and never for any love reasons or anything related to his sudden clumsiness. There was always the Malfoy scheme to talk about, but lack of information on that side discarded any theories they might have, and they were too busy with homework to worry about anything else.

There was a part of him that was glad, another part that questioned incessantly at this gladness, and a third part that tried to avoid thinking about the whole deal. He didn't know why, but those two asking things about his feelings and the reason behind his sore, slightly bruised body because of the aforementioned incessant clumsiness made him slightly nervous. There wasn't anything to be afraid of, he told himself plenty of times, and they _didn't_ ask any questions, but the possibility of them doing so made him squeamish, and then that would come down to some more questioning: why would he find himself nervous? It's not like they hadn't known about Cho and the brief crush he had had on Ginny after, both things long gone and forgotten. Ron didn't even mind anymore.

Harry was not usually one to run from problems, but he had to admit fighting a Basilisk was proving to be easier than coping with the troubles plaguing his mind, all of them with the name "Snape" at the centre. You didn't have to talk with the basilisk, or confront it with some mental rubbish. Harry was much fonder of physical things, and having to ponder Snape's identity linked to the Prince was arduous.

Arduous because he had, since before the Winter Break, come to terms with his crush on the Prince. At the beginning, he had chalked it up as a crush borne of admiration. The Prince' additions_ were_ interesting, the material in them fascinating, even more the language used; the wit, the eloquence, the charm. All of it incomparable to anything else Harry might have read before. It was with ease that his thoughts had settled on him simply enjoying a good book, and in the first few months of term, Hermione was more than glad to share breathing space with a person as passionate about books as she was, even if it was just the one.

However, after a certain time, Hermione and to a lesser degree, Ron, had gotten suspicious about the book, questioning Harry about his possessive behaviour and his more than long hours with it. Harry had not considered it at the time, coming to the conclusion that Hermione was getting a tad bit touchy about her brilliant performance overshadowed by his outstanding Potion making skills. Hermione had gotten mad at him for days. She kept insisting it was nothing to do with the class, but about him being unusually attached to a book. This, coming from Hermione herself, must have been the kick he needed to realise there was something odd about him.

The identity of the Prince, more than dangerous - and rightly so, if he told himself - had been fascinating. His admittance to this just made Hermione more nervous, and they had even entertained the idea of the book actually doing something to make him feel that way. The three of them, for the sake of tradition, had put themselves in the deepest parts of the Restricted Section several nights back in October to look up Revealing Charms, Spells and Enchantments. Hermione had had the honour to cast most of them, Harry a few and Ron the same. Then, looking at the tattered book now lighter around the edges, Harry had decided he didn't want any more spells put on it otherwise it was going to end up as dust. The spells themselves had been pretty dark, the results negative on the subject of the book containing more than paper and ink. Thus from that day on, Hermione had left him alone with it. That made her dig in more about Harry growing roots within the pages of the book, and he had to admit he was.

At that time, Hermione was the only one to know about his aforementioned crush on it. Harry just hadn't known it was bad enough for her to make the jealous boyfriend comment from a few weeks ago.

Now, in the first week of February, he had had several days after the Shield Charm class to keep on questioning himself. Prodding at the huge ball of twine inside his head with greater force, stubbornly trying to get the answers he wanted, trying to get to the centre of it. But he was not _that_ slow, and he knew attraction when he saw it.

Pondering it further during the DADA lesson of that day, and reaching the rocky place of him finally admitting he was _romantically_ crushing the Prince, there was no way back from Hermione's casual and careless suggestion, not when everything in the book now screamed 'Snape!'.

But how could it? Harry found himself staring at the Professor that day, turning his head everywhere the tall man strolled to, not paying attention to the lesson anymore, more preoccupied with what was going on inside his head than the outside world.

The Prince was smooth, hilarious, brilliant, charming, witty and fun. How could Snape ever be fun? Harry was ready to admit the man was brilliant, but fun, or Merlin forbid, _charming_? Preposterous!

But here was this little bit of something that didn't die, that kept linking the Prince's words to Snape's slow, deep tones; kept prodding at him incessantly, and the possibilities were endless...

So OK, maybe it was possible. So maybe Snape was the Half Blood Prince. Harry could consider the option, and the acceptance of that fact wouldn't be hard to come by. He found himself not minding the possibility when Severus Snape was right here being… enticing. Harry watched him glide between the desks and speak with that melodic voice. Who would have thought that focusing on that voice alone would make Harry realise it was quite pleasant to listen to? It was not overly deep, but deep enough, calm and composed, cultured even in the usual tightness Snape carried himself with.

Harry didn't notice that everyone had stood up and moved to the back of the classroom for the practical part of the lesson, the chatter dying the moment a huge splash of black stood just in front of him.

The problem didn't lie in Snape being the Prince; the problem didn't even lie in him being someone else after all.

_Potter…_

The problem was that Harry was kind of, even possibly, entertaining the _thought_ of Snape being the Prince as not so bad. Once he got to this simple yet stumbling possibility, he was even getting a little bit breathless. Watching inky black robes just served to emphasize his point.

And there it was; there lay his dilemma, the implication by a simple connection; if he liked the Prince and the Prince might be Snape… did that mean that he liked Snape? Why didn't he mind as much as he thought he would? The thought itself was making his body tingle right there and then, his mind almost turning into a pile of mush. It was the first time he had entertained that idea without getting upset about it, and the mortification filling his senses more than gave him reason for his previous stalling.

_Potter…_

Harry's deduction skills were not that stellar, and the intensity of the feelings emanating from the possibility of Snape being the Prince was overpowering, leaving him confused. The presence of the man was getting stronger by now, Harry could _taste_ it. He licked his lips.

But he didn't have to be an expert at emotions to clear his thoughts in regards to the specimen standing in front of him now. It started to take shape, this…thing, evolving into something sweet and throbbing, declaring itself with delicious cadence, leaving him feeling funny. Once he could distinguish the feeling, then it all went down to a path of much strangeness coupled with rosy cheeks. He could almost hear the man's voice inside his mind, ensnaring, rumbling and powerful.

_You are attracted to me, Potter…_

Then Snape would get close to him and touch his nose with his own just to…

"Potter!"

Yanked from his thoughts, Harry squeaked and looked up at glittering eyes above his own. That huge black splash from before was not him going crazy or getting hallucinations, but the Professor noticing that he had not obeyed his clear orders to move back to the back of the classroom, and was standing in front of him now, like a vortex, sucking him into blackness.

Harry felt everyone was watching them from the back of the classroom. At that moment, he was very relieved that his classmates were not able to see his face, because he felt he was purple with embarrassment.

_I like you… I like you like I've never liked anyone before…_

Snape's presence was enough to make Harry voice this catastrophic answer. Even though it was only in his mind, the statement was as true as him as needing to breathe, as waking up every day. His head swirled, and he could just faintly distinguish the slight widening of chocolate brown eyes.

**-0-**

When he was finally let out, Harry stumbled out of the classroom and had the urge to put his lips on the ground in a sign of worship, happy to be out of the painful purgatory he had been subjected to in class. He had been the last to stay back when DADA ended for the sole purpose of being present for another word-whipping from Snape. Looking at both sides of the hall Harry just decided he needed to do something crazy, and simply knelt down on the floor to touch his forehead to it. He had gone bonkers, he knew. He didn't care much at that moment. He didn't even care that Hermione and Ron were not there waiting for him.

Harry sensed the Professor coming out and didn't even sigh when he felt that heavy presence just beside him. He blinked one green eye open and looked up to find Snape's cold face looking down at him, indifferent, but still watching him.

"May your temporary insanity allow you to attend your detention, Mr Potter." Then he strolled away with those same silent, long steps. Harry sighed, and as a sign of his humanity, his brain conjured up the reasons of his torture just minutes ago.

He had stood up quickly, clumsy and uncoordinated, hands flying out, one of them knocking over his open ink bottle just after seeing those widened brown eyes. Snape's robes had ended up drenched, with a sizeable stain on them. The contrast of the stain made it clear that the robes were not black, but a deep royal blue today. Everyone had gasped when it happened, the sounds dividing themselves into grunts of exasperation by the Gryffindors and hearty snickers by the Slytherins.

Snape, probably thinking Harry did it on purpose to lengthen his hellish involvement with not just a dunderhead of a student, but the arrogant, mindless celebrity_, the saviour of the world_, had made a five minute trashing of his misgivings. It had been just five minutes, but Harry felt it like it had been ten. At least he was sure Snape hadn't seen inside his mind.

It didn't stop there. For the rest of the class he had been the victim of that same pair of chocolate eyes cutting through his brain and heart numerous times. If it weren't for the fact that an odd behaviour from him might be seen as the world meeting its imminent destruction, Harry would have curled into a tight ball and cry his eyes out. Maybe he was exaggerating, but the glare did felt harsher than before, probably because he found himself between the wall of his attraction and the sword of Snape's hatred.

The man had even made it his personal responsibility to remark on Harry's flaws as a human every chance he got, which was not much because he still had to teach, but the intention had been clear in those eyes.

Just when he admitted to his gigantic attraction to Severus Snape, the man had to almost ruin it with his harsh words. Harry could at least take comfort in the fact that those insults had been repeated many times, and while more cutting than before, at least they hadn't left him a bloody blob of pathetic meat and bones.

That still discounted the fact that he had now gotten detention for a week because of this whole show.

It was with a heavy heart that Harry got up and went to find his mean friends who didn't wait for him to comfort his poor soul. Not that he would ever tell them that.

Once he found them in the Gryffindor Common Room, he figured his pout was too intense when he found himself with arms surrounding him.

"Harry, I don't even know why you're like this. As if it wasn't something usual."

Ouch. Good way to emphasize his feelings were probably going to be the death of him.

"Well, Ron, everyone has a limit. It's obvious Harry's reached his".

Ohh, if only they knew…

"Yeah, I guess so. Even if it's the greasy bat I wouldn't want nobody telling me those things for a damned long time," Ron kept musing about these words, still with a warm arm around Harry's waist. Hermione, disregarding Ron's appalling grammar for the moment, took advantage of that distraction and looked at Harry meaningfully, trying to convey a message. Harry nodded.

In the end, they had gone to the Great Hall to eat and later to the Library to get the books they would need for their homework. They were going back to the Gryffindor Tower when Ron had an idea, telling them he wanted a late snack, leaving them for the moment to go to the Kitchens. Hermione finally found some time to talk to Harry, both of them sitting on one of the sofas once back at the Common Room.

"So… your crush on Snape…"

Harry covered her mouth so fast his palm ended up wet. After drying it off on her robe he gaped at her, speechless.

"Oh come on, Harry, you don't think I know you? You had been trying to hide your feelings sounding all yucky about Snape being the Prince, but I know about your crush on the Prince, remember? You might as well admit it."

"How…?"

"Well, you tried to hide this attraction by sounding disgusted, but I'm your friend, Harry, don't you think you could give me a little bit more credit? You always sounded angry, not disgusted. Ron has noticed too, by the way. No! Don't worry, he doesn't know it's Snape. We just…kind of know love struck when we see it. " Hermione blushed at this, making the connection to herself and Ron.

Harry looked doubtful. "I don't love him, Hermione. We're not even sure if he is the Prince! And how sure are you that Ron doesn't know?" he asked in a harsh whisper, looking around to see if the other students there were minding their own business.

"I've cast a _Muffliato_, Harry. You don't have to worry. As for Snape being the Prince, well, it's obvious you think he is… I know you think it would be better if he wasn't, just so you could stop liking him. But honestly, I think that if the Professor didn't end up being the Prince after all, your feelings wouldn't change…"

Harry felt even worse. It would have been great if these feelings disappeared once he knew Snape wasn't the Prince; however, his round of sharpness took charge for a moment there and once again told him it was not meant to be. The seed of this romantic feeling was pretty well planted in his mind and worse, it was growing roots around his heart.

"It's bad, isn't it?"

"Why?"

"I'm afraid that's something you will have to discover yourself".

"You sound like Dumbledore an awful lot, Hermione…"

She didn't say anything about that, but mentioned something he was worried about just a few seconds ago, "Ron told me about you liking a girl, but not knowing who it is. He was quite upset too, thinking you were keeping things from him."

It was a strong attempt to steer him away from his troubled thoughts, not liking to see him so forlorn. Harry snorted at that. He knew that if he ever liked someone safe, Ron would be the first to know, even before Hermione. Although chances were that Hermione would be the first to know, even before himself.

They stared at the engravings of the fireplace some more before Harry looked at her with a plea in his eyes. Hermione understood he needed the moment alone. There was a time when Harry would have tried to avoid his feelings to keep going with whatever he had to do – which tended to be a lot him being… him – but he was maturing in the emotional side too, finally catching up on all the senses he hadn't had time to be a child about. He needed to sort out his feelings if he intended to get over them, because it was obvious there wouldn't be a possibility for having his feelings returned. Harry just hoped Hermione told Ron something to assuage any suspicions on his part.

**-0-**

Harry spent an inordinate amount of time sitting up in bed and staring at his bed curtains, deep inside his thoughts, embracing them.

It was because he finally saw Severus Snape, he realised. It was the delicious, but sobering realisation of a person as they are. Everything he had thought about the man started to dissolve, a huge wall of thorny roses falling wilted to the ground, showing an open landscape he explored through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. He felt himself sinking deeper, exploring his inner person as if inside a bubble, with everything around him a great smudge of brown and reds. He had lived so long with a misconception of numerous things, and with great regret he saw it could have been different. The clues had been there, waving tirelessly until he could see them, and it was with a royal kick from the Prince that he finally saw the huge ball of twine not as a strange entity with no beginning and no end, but the mere if endless perception of the man as something tangible and - admitting it to himself – even sensual.

All of the clues had been there. Since his first year, deep inside Fluffy's bite and passing through time to land at the sight of charred robes from Hermione's fire, and then to the dark man himself, standing in front of them with arms spread wide, facing a rampant werewolf. And all that concerto of experience reaching the peak for Harry when he remembered right there and then the quiet, desolate words from Dumbledore back in fourth year, where Snape had, for the first time since Harry met him, looked afraid.

Harry found himself sighing mournfully. The depth of his discovery was drowning him in conflicting emotions that made him happy, nostalgic, angry and nervous at the same time. It was so ticklish and bothersome he had to lie down and groan while he rubbed his face on his pillow, expecting his treacherous thoughts to fall down on the white linen. He kicked at the mattress for good measure and then felt ridiculous for doing it in the first place.

Who would have thought attraction was going to make him this stupid?

Yet there he was, moving down to lie on his back, snuggling with the book and almost crooning to it like a cat with its kittens. He glanced down and felt his heart starting to beat faster. Seeing the pale pages and the angry, black letters created a wave of possibilities and doubts and now Harry wanted to know.

He was full to the brim with questions that kept poking out of his mind and he felt dizzy from them. His mouth was dry and his throat tight. The desire just to let something out of his mouth was overwhelming him, almost to the point of actual physical manifestation. He thought for a moment he was going to be sick, his stomach doing some backflips down there.

He had to know. He just had to know if Snape was the Prince.

**-0-**

Just to be safe, Harry had gone out of Gryffindor Tower half an hour before the detention, finding his friends much too close to each other on one of the sofas. He had looked away for a moment before catching the sound of them standing up to walk towards him. Ron and Hermione had been supportive, telling him to not worry.

Harry had already felt like a deflated balloon because of his stupid heart. Seeing the two of them together, so close and yet so far, rubbed salt on a little heart wound created a few minutes ago.

Just when he was heading off to the exit of the Common Room, he turned back and searched Ron's face for any sign of him knowing about his attraction for the greasy git of the Dungeons. Ron looked as ginger and good as ever, slapping his back in support. With a weird trepidation, Harry had closed the Portrait of the Fat Lady and strolled down to the south wing.

Walking along the corridors, he had managed to appreciate the contrast of the white light from the moon clashing with the one from the fire burning in the wall scones. With yet another sigh – probably not the last one of the day either- a mental wall erected itself in his mind, hiding the landscape he had inside his brain. He knew he had to control himself if he planned to come out of the detention victorious, so he blocked his nervousness and breathed slow and deep, focusing just on those soft sounds.

And now, he found himself scrubbing floors and talking with bookcases. He had expected something. He didn't know what it was or why he thought it, but the Professor letting him in, instructing him on the things that had to be done and then going away to his office was unexpected. That in itself was an understatement of great proportions. Harry had been ready for more insults; some dangerous looks. Hell, he would be lying if he wasn't expecting something… something...

Harry had entered the classroom and didn't even see Snape before that simile of indifference transformed itself into a tight, tingly ball inside his stomach, vibrating into something that made him blush, which had been obviously misinterpreted by Snape. The man had just looked away as if he was not worth his attention and grumbled out everything he had to do.

Harry had tried so hard to make this as easy on himself as possible by blocking his emotions. Obviously it hadn't worked. Well, if you can't beat the enemy, join him.

With this idea at the front, he succumbed to desire and thought the detention was going to be something charged with that particular energy he had been experiencing these last days. It was with a particularly bothersome annoyance that he realised his expectations were not met at all and he was now grouchy with disappointment, muttering expletives under his breath while moving his hand across the floor with a big brush. Snape wasn't there for Harry to feel his ardent presence just behind the desk, tempting him, this being the main reason of Harry's disappointment .

Nothing happened except for finding himself attacked by excited little magical appliances wanting to talk him up, trying to get his attention. And here he was, on the floor, with strained muscles, bruised knees and no Snape inside him.

Wait…

What?

He shivered before snapping his eyes up, afraid the professor was going to walk in on him and see his eyes brimming with that sudden throbbing and hot desire, throw him out and snap at him or even worse, mock him. Harry looked down again. He just had the time to ogle at the weird looking stain he was trying to scrub off the floor before a door opened and Snape barged in on him in this most inopportune of moments, strolled calmly towards his desk chair, sitting on it and taking some scrolls from the table top to start grading. Harry looked down, scared to death, thinking his sexual thoughts were so strong they were right now transferring themselves into Snape's brain.

Snape didn't even glance at him, and Harry couldn't help but feel relieved, certainly his thoughts were just his own, like they had always been except for that awful fifth year…

Harry was very used to scathing remarks about everything from Snape, and if just second ago he was just craving some attention from him and getting angry because it wasn't meant to happen, now he was glad that for once the man was just too occupied to invest his time in him. He couldn't help but sigh – yet again – at his exasperating change of emotions. Trembling, he looked down to keep scrubbing….

Just to stop in his tracks, swallowing so hard he heard something breaking along his vocal cords. His trousers, even though they had been Dudley's before, didn't hide the very obvious consequence of his desire, which he hadn't realised until he saw the very obvious, tight denim tent. He had the sudden urge to close his legs and he did, knocking his knees together. He regretted that immediately, gasping in discomfort. His robes, messily folded on one of the desks, looked too far away at that moment.

Harry felt even more nervous. A nervousness so sharp he could almost be sure of Snape feeling it from afar. _No! Remember, Potter. Your thoughts are just your own!_

He tried to will his erection down, but the idea of him been caught, of Snape seeing him aroused, of Snape looking into his mind and seeing himself pounding into Harry; it was just making it worse.

Ohh, he was an itty-bitty sick boy, wasn't he?

He jumped to his feet and turned around to run. He bet he was going out so fast Snape didn't have the time to register his panicked intake of breath before he grabbed his robes and fled out of the room as if it were on fire.

"Potter!"

**-0-**

It was killing Harry. It was driving him crazy. He could just run in the darkened corridors like a demented bunny. He could feel himself spilling tears from the frustration. His hands trembled and closed themselves into fists lest he touch himself, prolonging his pain, his aching. He wanted so much, to touch, to tear, to kiss. And it was so painful, so hard to endure. He could feel himself inside a bubble, as if his own existence was heightened for the moment. He was lucid, but not quite sane.

He just had to find an isolated place.

With a near crazed mind, he entered one of the bathrooms on the lower levels; slammed one of the cubicle doors closed behind him and fumbled around with the button of his pants, sobbing when the musty air slammed against his naked flesh. Falling onto the toilet seat and pushing his hands against his erect penis, he stroked hard, moaning in mortification.

Then he came all over his trembling thighs.

The sweet, sweet pleasure left him in spurts so strong a white streak of his seed hit the bathroom door. He could feel pulses of energy all over his body. He could swear he had to gone a temporary heaven, and the times before did not even come close to what just happened.

Harry panted for a long time, as embarrassed and baffled as he could be, staring at the milky stain on the door.

He sat there on the toilet, mindless for Merlin knew how long, breathing and blinking. A very simple plane of existence. He realized he hadn't even checked to see if the lid was down, and he grimaced at the idea of his robes soaking wet with toilet water. Apparently he had been too… busy to even feel where he put his bum on.

The lid was down.

With shaky legs, he stood up, did up his pants and went out of the cubicle, nearing the sinks to stare at his reflection.

He really needed to know if Snape was the Prince something awful.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I hope you enjoyed this chapter. If you did... maybe you could tell me what you think about it in a review?

Please?


	2. Allegory of Harry's Heart

**Title:** Thorny Roses Falling Wilted to the Ground.

**Word Count:** 11,022

**Chapter:** (2/3)

**Themes:** Introspection, desire.

**Genres:** Romance.

**Warnings:** Pink colour plus flying magical creatures.

**Beta:** Another deafening applause for YenGirl, my beta n.n

**Dedication:** To YenGirl, this particular chapter and the theme was a suggestion of hers. She wanted a story with cherubs, and a story I gave her. This is the beginning of all: a mere idea.

This also goes to all the lovely readers that left my a review and the ones that put this story on their alerts and favs (I still would like for you to review though...)

Any mistakes left are my own.

* * *

><p><em><strong><span>Chapter 2.<span>**_

_**Allegory of Harry's Heart.**_

"Harry! Wake up! Ouch, don't hit me!"

Harry had gone up to Gryffindor tower at a late hour, tripping over his own feet and landing down on his bed like dead weight. He had been so distracted and flustered it wasn't until this morning, drowsy and safe, that he realised no one had found him haunting down the corridors, which would have resulted in more detentions. Coupled with the ones he was sure were going to get stacked onto his schedule for running out to masturbate at the thought of his professor, he would have to do nasty tasks until the end of the year.

Talking about Snape, Harry found it weird that, when he was out the bathroom and on wobbly legs, the professor hadn't been there skulking around the general perimeter. Harry wouldn't have been able to live through that. If Snape asked him something and demanded retribution, Harry knew he was capable of spilling the beans without meaning to.

Then again, Snape was not one to do something as childish as go in hot pursuit of a snotty miscreant like him. The thought was such a relief that Harry couldn't bothered to think further about the consequences of 'disrespecting a Professor by running out in the midst of detention'. He would wonder about that later, when he was more awake.

He opened his eyes and saw a red smudge of hair and an even redder smudge of skin.

"Leave me alone, Ron! It's bloody Saturday."

"Yeah, but it's not a normal Saturday. And you hit me!" Harry had kicked Ron's leg with his own, leaving it outside of that warm cocoon of sheets. A hand grabbed his calf and pulled.

"Ron! Sod off!" he yelped as he fell down on the floor, with a grinning redhead looking down at him.

"You are getting a bit rude, Harry. Maybe we can cheer you up with all the fan mail you got today."

"What? What are you talking about?" Harry sat up on the floor; rubbing his back and feeling his feet touch a frilly ribbon lying close to it. He crawled to reach the end of his canopied bed, opening and closing his mouth at the sight of a diverse assortment of cards, flowers, chocolates and perfumes.

"How did they get here?"

"There is a space to the right of the fireplace down in the Common Room that has a sign that says "Valentine's Day Gifts for Harry" and girls have been bringing their own and other House girls' gifts all morning. I brought them here. Also, Hermione is a little bit mad at me right now. You know I broke up with Lavender but she got pushy today and Hermione is pouting. Don't tell her I said that though." Ron looked a little too smug to mind the attention, especially because Lavender and Hermione weren't the only ones having their eyes on him.

Ron then took Harry's elbow and pulled him up, urging him to get dressed so they could go have breakfast at the Great Hall.

"I didn't even remember today was the fourteenth…" mused Harry, scratching his head, then he remembered something. "You didn't eat anything from my gifts, did you? You know how some girls…" he put on trousers, shirt and sneakers and followed Ron down the stairs to where Hermione was waiting for them.

"I know, mate. I was very tempted though, there's one stash of Fortescue's never melting triple chocolate ice cream that kept calling me to eat it…but I refrained. I also got all the other blokes to stay away from it in case some of it contained Love Potions."

"You know, Ron. You don't look it but you are pretty bright," Harry said this as they neared Hermione, making her grin at them like they were adorable.

"Are you talking about my hair, Harry? I didn't know you wanted me to be your Valentine," Ron winked, hooking an arm around Harry's hips and pulling him closer to pretend he was nuzzling his ear. It was supposed to be a joke, but Harry took the words with a very different meaning. He didn't notice Hermione getting red at seeing them, concentrating more on his current predicament.

"Ron…"

"What?"

"Do you…do you mind other people liking other people of their same sex?" At this, Ron looked at him weird. Harry looked at Hermione to convey the question was for both of them.

"Uhh….why would I mind that?"

Hermione was just about to say something, but at Ron's unusual response, she stayed quiet.

"You don't mind?" Harry asked again.

"I don't even know what I'm supposed to mind, honestly."

Now Harry was the one a little confused. Hermione looked baffled too.

"Oh, wait, Harry. Ah! I see…you both have been around Muggles for a bit too long… No offense," Ron laughed merrily, if a little bit exasperated. "Harry, Hermione… I've met people who have had romantic relationships with magical creatures…why would I mind if they like boys or girls? That would be stupid, wouldn't it? Why the question, Harry? Don't tell me you finally succumbed to Creevey's icky charm?"

"Huh? Creevey? No. I was just uhh, curious."

Both Harry and Hermione still looked dubious, making Ron frown. He looked a bit offended too.

Harry, not sure how to proceed, had an idea and went back to the dormitory, Hermione and Ron behind him.

"I swear I don't mind. You gotta know, guys, the Wizarding World is different in that sense."

"Yes, but Ron, you still have some very old standings on society that Muggles no longer have."

"Yeah, I know that, but it's different and difficult to explain. I don't think you have to look behind Wizarding history to see if I mind homosexuals because I don't! Why won't you believe me, Hermione?"

"I didn't say I don't believe you, Ron. It's just hard to understand. You say you don't mind but how are we going to be sure of that?"

"Well, you can be sure if _I tell you that I don't mind_! For Merlin's sake. Give me a little bit more credit, why don't you?"

"I'm giving you credit, you great toe rag!"

"If you gave me credit you would believe me when I tell you something instead of questioning it like you always do! Just because it's something you are not knowledgeable in doesn't make it any less true!"

At this point, Harry had the Advanced Potions book inside his robes, looking at his friends back and forth. It was like a ping pong game, and he was just waiting to see who would be the first one to lose. He was honestly missing this constant bickering. It felt like going back home.

"You don't understand me, Ron! I just want to know what you mean when you say, '_I don't mind_!' You don't have to be so hurt about it and then blame me for it!" Hermione couldn't help but sound mocking when saying 'I don't mind' in a slow, retarded voice. Hearing that, Ron got even more riled up.

"Well, it's always the same with you. Looking surprised at me being something more than stupid and then laughing at me when I notice it! You wanna see how I don't mind? Look!"

Ron looked at Harry then, red around the ears because he was so angry. Harry didn't even have the time to process what that particular look meant before Ron grabbed his waist and pulled him forward to smack a kiss against his lips. A wet, well given kiss.

With a wet sound, he separated himself and then looked at Hermione triumphantly.

Both Harry and Hermione gaped at him before Ron realised what he did and then they all blushed, feeling awkward.

Harry didn't have the heart to mind much. A kiss from Ron was surprisingly tame, and he didn't feel anything from it. He had never kissed a bloke before, and thinking his best friend was the first one to do so was not upsetting at all. Hermione, contrary to what they both thought she was going to react like, had a distracted look on her face.

"That was so hot!" she blurted out, biting her lip when she heard her own words. She blushed and looked away.

Ron looked at Harry then. "I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to do that. I guess I just got so riled up and I just had to do something, you know? Please, don't stop talking to me! It didn't mean anything! You- you know that I don't like you that way. You know I… like… someone else." He couldn't help but steal a surreptitious glance at the brunette, signalling with his blue eyes who that someone else was.

Hermione beamed, looking into the mirror in the dormitory, pretending not to hear anything.

Harry looked at both of them, grinning.

"I know, Ron. But if you expect us to think you brilliant then you better stop doing things before thinking them through."

"Harry! That was uncalled f-"

"You prat! I'm gonna kill you!"

Both of them laughed and the trio went down the stairs once again, finally with the purpose of having some breakfast and taking part in the festivities. Harry couldn't help grin in his mind at seeing Hermione steal a jealous look his way when going out.

**-0-**

When the three of them crossed the Fat Lady's portrait, they were assaulted by the frilliness of the celebrations, The overweight and painted guardian of their common room herself made a contributing factor. Instead of the soft, classy white gown she was usually seen in, she was wearing a grotesque pink dress with an alarming amount of lace and ruffles. She cleared her throat and looked at them pointedly, waiting for their opinion.

"You look very…uhm, unbelievable," Hermione managed at last, nodding. The Fat Lady grinned at them, too pleased to notice Ron and Harry's intentional blank expressions.

On the way to the main corridor they stumbled onto two giggling, flying babies in diapers, wearing bows behind their backs and flinging confetti about. They were so tiny they could comfortably fit in the palm of Hermione's hand.

They introduced themselves as "Love cherubs" and proceeded to give the three of them kisses on the cheek. After giving Harry two parcels, they went away with many gracious smiles.

Harry looked down at the packages. These would make the pile on his bed grow even bigger. Hermione was gracious enough to shrink them and store them away in her robes for future inspection in case they contained sneaky Love Spells.

The trio got to the Great Hall with hair full of confetti that fizzled, courtesy of Peeves the Poltergeist. Hermione's hair was starting to smoke so she dispelled the sparking embers from their hair. They made their way through a swarm of cherubs to the front corner of Gryffindor table and helped themselves to pink cupcakes and strawberry milk.

This year, as a way to make Valentine's Day even more sugary than it already was, the students could command the cherubs to send messages, love letters, gifts and sweets to whomever they wished. They could even send them anonymously. In no time at all, Harry found himself with a halo of babies floating above him and making a queue, waiting for their turn to deliver their packages to him. There were ten of them, all giggling, singing and kissing each other while they waited. It was all very strange. Ron swatted at a few of them because they kept dipping their tiny feet in his porridge. He had long since given up on the one fastened to his red hair. Hermione just thought they were cute, grabbing an unsuspecting one flying above her and cuddling it against her. Ginny and Katie crooned beside her, tickling the cherub. It protested it had something to deliver and they let it go with a giggle.

Harry stared at them. Who knew Valentine's Day would make girls go all quirky and weird. They even appeared to have some sort of eye ailment, blinking so much.

Most of the cherubs were there to deliver to him short poems that made disastrous allegories of his green eyes, a few others were there to give him chocolates and one of them gave him a perfume. All the senders were anonymous. Overall, it wasn't such a bad experience.

"You're the last one?"

"Yesh, Meester 'Arry!" squeaked the cherub. It was wearing a pink diaper. Harry, seeing a few of them wore blue, supposed this one was a girl. She also had a thick French accent.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Oui."

"Uhh... So I really can send stuff anonymously?"

"Mais oui! I won't tell nohbody eef you want me sendeeng sumtheeng."

Harry felt he was being observed and looked at his housemates, all of whom were listening in on his conversation. He felt himself going purple. A few girls nearby looked hopeful. Maybe they would get something from Harry after all!

"So you 'ave something for me to send, yesh?"

"Uh… no. I just… was curious."

"Ok" with a kiss on his cheek, the cherub grabbed the one twisted up in Ron's hair and pulled, berating it for getting distracted by pretty red hair. They vanished with a puff of smoke, probably going to report the status of the gifts to the respective senders. Given that cherubs kept vanishing and appearing all over the place, it was impossible to know which one was which.

"I do have to agree with the cherub," whispered Hermione, making everyone cat call while Ron looked down and pretended to eat, his face as red as his hair. His freckles had disappeared, lost amongst all the red. Their housemates around them started teasing them.

Lavender, looking from a safe distance, huffed and stomped down the Great Hall and out of sight, providing the Gryffindors with even more material to tease Ron and Hermione with. Taking advantage of the distraction, Harry felt his head turn towards the Head Table.

Since it was the first year the cherub idea was in motion, Harry wanted to know how that worked for the Professors. Being at the front end of the Gryffindor table proved to be useful, because he could at least make out the words squeaked by the cherubs floating around the staff. Most of them, as predicted, just contained message by well-meaning students appreciating their Professors' work and sending them thank you gifts. However, it was interesting to see some of the younger teachers receiving suggestive messages uttered by the soft, high voices of the cherubs, all of them anonymous, contrary to the thank you notes. Vector and Sinistra were the most popular by the look of things, hearing the romantic messages with diplomacy and occasionally stealing glances at the Headmaster, who laughed heartily at their doubtful expressions and keep on eating the weird concoctions he was given for being the best Headmaster in the world ever.

Harry looked at the two female professors with feigned interest for a few seconds before he lost the battle with himself. Slowly, he turned his eyes and then his head towards the right end of the table, which was the closest to him.

There was Snape, with what Harry was sure was the same cherub who had taken a liking to Ron's hair, attached now to his, munching on a strand of black hair. Snape looked like he wasn't aware he had anything on his hair, eating with a straight back and composed calculated movements of his fork. It was fun to see him all poised and strict with a tiny baby on his head.

It also made him remember the happenings of last night, and Harry was just getting prepared to get whipped by the Professor once those dark eyes stumbled onto him. That, however, was interrupted by what Harry saw.

Surprisingly, a steady if small amount of cherubs also left messages to Snape for being an outstanding teacher, even if he was grumpy and dark.

Most of the messages were from Slytherins, but there were a few from the other houses. None of them were from Gryffindor. Harry thought he would like to be the only Gryffindor student to send him something.

At that moment, he saw a baby mouth open to sing.

Then, gaping and distantly realising everyone from the side of this table was hearing too, he heard something that left him speechless.

_"Sliding my fingers through your soft, black hair,_

_Remembering the feel of your soft, sensual touch,_

_I can't help but think, we should just make,_

_A cauldron with our hot, strong love._

_There is it, the reminiscence of great affection,_

_Bubbling up inside me, filling me with energy._

_There it is, the reminiscence of you beside me,_

_Teaching me to how to make a cauldron of hot strong love._

_Tall, dark and handsome._

_Cold, distant and intense._

_It is you I want, for I know, _

_That you can make a cauldron of hot, strong love,_

_It is you I desire, for I know, _

_That you can make my dreams come true."_

The cherub's pronunciation was the tiniest bit off, but the lyrics were very clear. Both Snape and the baby on his head stared at the singing one in front of them, looking like they were both slapped at the same time. The cherub looked love struck, whereas Snape just looked blank. The teachers on both his sides were smirking and Flitwick went as far as to palm Snape's shoulder with his hand, chuckling good naturedly.

"A Cauldron of 'Ot, Strong Love' by Celeestina Warbeck. Zis message is anonymouz, sir Snape. I would dare say eet's quite flattering." The cherub smiled and then winked at the one on Snape's hair. They both linked tiny hands together and went away, not before throwing some confetti at the Professor and giggling. Harry noticed both cherubs wore pink diapers.

Snape looked relieved at having the cherub not chew on his hair anymore. He patted it into place and grunted, Vanishing the confetti adorning his robes with a flick of his wand. When he looked up and found Harry and his group of friends staring at him, he gave them a sneer and then kept eating, much to Harry's surprise. Snape didn't even spare him a glance. Odd that he hadn't done anything by now. Harry didn't let his guard down though; there was always the possibility of Snape catching him at an unexpected moment and punish him for his insolence.

If he only knew it was not insolence _at all_.

"That was actually a very fitting song. I never would have thought of it," Ginny piped up, looking at Snape with bright eyes. That remark made all the girls participate in a communal squeal and started cooing about the song, thinking it was very cute and romantic.

"Who would want to send Snape that, mind you?" Seamus asked in a stage whisper. Harry saw some heads nodding, as curious as Seamus was about the sender.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "He is no longer in the Potions Lab getting polluted by the gases infesting the whole place. He looks… healthier. And his DADA classes are very interesting. _And_ Snape is everything the song said he was. I'm sure there are people out there that appreciate his attributes."

"Not the handsome part, he isn't," Dean noted.

There were collective sounds of agreement.

Ginny snorted incredulously, "So what if he isn't some sort of Muggle model? Not everyone is a superficial twat like some of you are…" Just as she said this a little army of cherubs got close to her, forming a line to give her parcels of sweets and perfumes. She was quite famous, given that she was receiving even more gifts than Harry.

"Says the one who keeps receiving gifts from boys because they think she's pretty."

Ginny was just about to address the first cherub when she heard Ron's words. Harry thought the look on her face was sort of scary.

"What exactly are you implying, Ron? That they like me just because of how I look? Is that it? I'm going to make your death slow!"

Ron and Ginny glared at each other something fierce, which made everyone laugh.

"Well, some of these people haven't even talked to you! How the hell would they know who you are? I'm just saying that there seem to be more 'superficial twats' than this idea you have of deep blokes."

"Thank Merlin for that too. That way we won't lose time looking for a guy worth the trouble because apparently there are so few of them."

"I think girls can be superficial too," Katie mused, looking very serious.

"Well, yeah, everyone needs a pair. Shallow people with shallow people and stuff." The discussion seemed to reach an impasse after that. They weren't even talking about Snape anymore.

Harry felt someone tapping his left shoulder and he turned to see Parvati smiling at him. Her eyes were soft and sweet, but she looked just friendly.

"All you boys should follow Harry. You aren't shallow, are you, Harry?"

Harry thought he wasn't given the current subject of his affections, but he still thought Snape quite attractive. The song highlighted all of that, and Harry thought 'tall, dark and handsome' was pretty accurate.

"I hope I'm not," he said in a small voice. The girls grinned at him while the boys rolled their eyes.

"Sir 'Arry!"

_Oh, not another one…_

"What?"

"'Ere is a gift. Eet is a letter. I 'ave clear instructions to tel you not to reed it until tomorrow night. The sender sayz to not eeven try look at it before becohze it won't work."

The unusual request was very strange and it left Harry staring at the baby while it waited patiently for him to take the letter.

Hermione, always sharp, noticed everyone looking at the letter with curiosity. She tried to divert their attention to the cherub instead.

"You sound French. Where are you from?"

"I am from France eendeed, miss. I'm a Cupid Fairy from Verdon Gorge. Dumbleedory 'ired ohs becohz Madame Maxime, the Headmistress of Beauxbatons told 'im aboht uz."

"So you are not… a magical object?"

The cherub didn't even look offended "Then we would be very good magical objectz, no?"

"How long are you going to stay here, in the castle?"

"For a 'ole week! Dumbleedory ish quite generous with 'is paying!" The cherub gave her a kiss straight on the mouth and Vanished with a wink. Hermione blushed.

Harry couldn't have been happier to have her as his friend, glad no one was now looking at him or the letter in his hands. He even managed to laugh when Ron looked slightly put out by the kiss. Harry bet Ron was wondering how a cherub could get to kiss Hermione so casually and there he was, waiting for the right moment to do so.

**-0-**

By the time breakfast ended, Harry was happy not to receive any more gifts. The three of them stood up to go back the Common Room and get ready for Hogsmeade. It was not a Hogsmeade weekend, but as a special day, Dumbledore had altered the schedule to let the students go.

Before they could cross over to the grand doors of the Great Hall, Ginny caught up and invited them to the Three Broomsticks to have Butterbeer to celebrate their friendship.

"It sounds good. We'll meet you there," Hermione said, smiling at them and getting ahead of Ron and Harry.

"We'll see you there in about three hours, alright?" Ron said, waving before following Hermione out the doors. This left Harry and Ginny standing on their own just beside the entrance to the Great Hall. The whole place was buzzing with excitement but Harry felt as if he were with Ginny alone.

Looking at her, he could see why many people showered her with gifts and attention. He remembered Malfoy himself admitting she was very nice looking back in September, when they were on the train and just arriving at Hogsmeade Platform to begin their sixth year. Harry hadn't thought about it back then because he had been busy nursing a bloody, broken nose and walking along a dark path with Tonks.

He _looked_ at Ginny now, analysing her long, straight copper hair, her full breasts and plump lips. She was indeed a very beautiful girl and Harry was sure she could easily be the best looking one in the school. He imagined how she would look when she grew into woman, and was sure she was going to destroy many hearts along the way, even if unintentionally. He knew Ginny was not a typical weak kneed girl who squealed at everything, and he was glad he was friends with girls like her and Hermione, who held their own ground against the world. Ginny had all the outlets to be a spoiled, arrogant, prissy girl, but she was firmly bound to earth and he couldn't help but admire that.

Harry had many reasons to love her, to cherish her and be one of the dozens of guys worshipping the ground she walked on. It could be so easy; certainly he wouldn't suffer when she got close to him to kiss him and make love to him, her stunning appearance contrasting with his darker one.

But he couldn't. He just couldn't like her that way without knowing with a cold sharpness that a big part of his love for her was mainly love for her family. Thinking about it with a cool head, in that moment where just the two of them existed, he saw her as a means to finally have the Weasleys be his family, and he couldn't do that to her. It could have been just as easy a marriage with Ron as it could be with her. Either of them interchangeable.

She deserved better.

Looking straight into her eyes, Harry saw a little door shut in those chocolate depths. The only thing he could think of was that Snape's eye colour was richer, more compelling.

Ginny smiled at him with the slightest shine in her eyes.

"I can see I'm not the one on your mind."

He didn't respond, he nodded his head because it was the least he could do.

"I… I'll see you in Hogsmeade, Harry."

She turned around to go with her friends that still were at the front of the Gryffindor table but thought better and turned around again, walking calmly to the exit. Her step was light and he shoulders high. Looking at her shiny red hair, Harry did not regret rejecting her.

He found both Hermione and Ron waiting just a hall away in the direction of the Gryffindor Tower. They appeared to be concentrating on each others' presence, standing close to the wall. With that, Harry was sure Ginny had gone the other way to be alone for some time.

Harry saw them look up and all three of them nodded at each other.

Walking along the corridors with his best friends, Harry grabbed the silent opportunity to finally take into the whole Valentine's Day atmosphere created by his surroundings.

The stone walls of the castle were decorated by tasteful carmine drapes that hung low and graced the floor with golden lace. There were red balloons floating up in the ceiling and the chandeliers along the corridors (which were adorned by red ribbons) emanated a bright white light that contrasted artfully with the decorations. All of it could have been crass were it not for the balance of colours. Harry didn't know much about decorations, but he didn't think the castle was badly decorated. Nothing could be worse than Umbridge's office back in Fifth Year.

They kept on walking, passing by couples and groups of friends already on their way to Hogsmeade with bags full of money to buy even more stuff in pinks and reds.

Harry knew this day was mostly for what he considered mass commercialism, but there was always going to be a space for true affection. It was the day people had an opportunity to express what they felt. It was the day to grab onto a dose of chivalry and head towards the resolution of feelings. And as clues went, it could also be a day for heartbreak. Thinking of it, Harry hoped he wasn't going to be one of them. Ginny hadn't appeared overly devastated, but then again, she had always being a hot head, and her sunny exterior was a mask very few people knew about. He could see that about her because he was the same. His was a mask of a distracted, aloof and goofy young man.

Still, with all the reasons piling up for him to be fond of her in a different way, his feelings didn't budge; kept coming back to the greater force, the enigma caressing with his mind and body, the beauty, the depth, the stormy typhoon that was Severus Snape, his freaking DADA professor.

The intensity of Harry's thoughts drowned him as he walked, and if before those same thoughts made him nervous, afraid and upset, now he could just let himself be pulled deeper, left defenceless by the sheer intensity he felt when thinking of the man.

The man who was his fucking DADA professor. The man that for all intents and purposes hated him more than he himself wanted Voldemort dead.

He was quickly spiralling out of control, feeling a distinct heavy weight weakening his steps.

Getting out of his thoughts just made it worse, because he started feeling it again, that sense of not belonging when he saw Ron and Hermione stealing glances at each other. Because Harry was in the middle, he felt like he was interfering with something intimate. It was not the first time he felt like the skewed, broken, third wheel.

"Uhh, guys. So… Snape… Professor Snape told me to see him right after breakfast to discuss something about my detention… I'll-I'll see you at Hogsmeade later okay? I also need… to sort those gifts out."

Again, to his discomfort, they didn't fight much about it. Ron squeezed his shoulder and Hermione gave him a brief hug, giving him the two parcels she had kept and advising him to be careful about them.

Once they were gone, Harry strolled aimlessly along the corridors, bumping occasionally against some boys or giggling girls. In the end, he sat alone on a bench in front of the lake, like a kicked puppy and feeling rather like one. Then he blinked and raised his hand towards his head, where a suckling cherub seemed to be tangled in his hair.

He smiled.

"How come you're eating my hair if it looks like a bird's nest?"

"'Ecohze ishh 'asty."

"How much hair have you eaten today?"

"Jush three personz'. I must say Sir Snapies' 'air eesh the most good tasting."

Snape again, hunting down his thoughts and his hearing ability. Harry then gasped, feeling an idea tumbling down his brain, demanding his attention and better, its execution.

"Say, are you fairies powerful?"

The cherub seemed to think the question, then, opening her tiny fist, she let go of Harry and flew down to float in front of him.

"You are a very ztrange young boy."

"So are you?"

"Of course!" squeaked the fairy, "We magical creatures 'ave lotz o' very powerful magic!"

"Tell me where Professor Snape is. He is the one with the black hair you were sucking on earlier… Ah! How come he didn't hex you?"

"'Ow dare you? I'm very adorable!"

"I know you're very cute. But he is grumpy and he doesn't appreciate people getting near him…" There was no way to know this though. He just assumed people avoided him because he didn't like any sort of proximity.

The cherub, taking the question very seriously, flew down to sit beside him. She crossed one chubby leg over the other and put her hands to rest on her knee. He looked down at her and tried hard to restrain himself from smothering her. She really was very cute. The bench looked gigantic with her on it.

"Well…" she seemed to reach a conclusion, nodding to herself and slapping her hand against her thigh.

"'Arry Potty. Eveerything moost 'ave equilibrium. A weakness for strength. Softness for hardness. Quietude for storm."

"So you're saying Snape looking like he does, thought you cute?"

"Ehxactly. You are very clever."

"Ahm…thanks. C-could you tell me where he is?"

"Of course, 'e is in 'ees office."

"Could you accompany me to see him?"

"Why?"

"I… need something."

"Is it loff?"

"I don't know."

"Then we must deescover it."

**-0-**

After a while, with them relaxing under the shade of a tree, the cherub hid in one of Harry's robe pockets.

"I never asked, what's your name?"

He had to lean down to hear her squeaky muffled voice.

"Me name is Agnès."

"Ok, Agnès, you might be about to witness the greatest humiliation of all."

The cherub didn't comment, but he could feel her tiny hands resting against his stomach, offering support.

Harry started walking towards the south wing, not wanting to risk entering the castle from the front in case someone saw him. Besides, this could give him time to sort his thoughts and shore up his courage, taking advantage of the cold air and green surroundings to soothe him as he walked.

In no time at all, he found himself standing in front of Professor Snape's office.

Given that the windows faced the east, the sun shone through them, illuminating the hall with a bright warm light. Harry stared at the orange flecks of dust floating around him for a moment. Agnès had peeked out from his pocket and was staring too, her tiny hands trying to catch the dust.

Her presence alone, soft and light and not judgmental made him feel brave enough to stand there. It could be so easy to give up and just go. He didn't know her or what she did or even exactly what she was, but he needed an anchor now, and she turned out to be quite a capable one, since he was standing here, ready to face the future.

It was a pity that he couldn't have Ron and Hermione here with him, but the current circumstances didn't allow that.

Looking at the door, Harry knew this could be an opening to a vortex of colourful, maddening possibilities that might well destroy him. This could be the day he got his heart broken. Thinking about the subject itself, there was the possibility of something even worse taking place.

Not being one to over think of every possible outcome – even if they clearly wanted to push into his mind, Harry knocked on the heavy wooden door, biting his lip. He didn't have to wait long.

The door clicked open, reality slammed into his chest; the electric feeling thrumming through his veins emphasizing his sudden vulnerability. He felt finite and small at that moment.

There was Severus Snape sitting on his desk chair, surrounded by stacks of parchment; tall and dark and handsome, with the sunlight giving his pale skin a blush of warmth. The orange flecks of dust were visible through the cracks of the curtains, halfway open, giving Snape a very attractive appearance. At this exact moment, Harry had never been so grateful that Snape taught DADA for the sole reason of finding him here, with the tall windows and desk serving as background for the scenery the man found himself painted in. Distantly, Harry thought he was being quite the poet these past days.

It was with sudden desire that Harry passed from one thought to another of more desirable nature, the catalysis of his attraction.

"I…just want to kiss you so much," Harry would say to him. In a distant universe perhaps.

Instead Harry shouted, "I just w… I'm sorry for running out yesterday! I was hoping I could find a way to make it up to you!"

He stood there at the doorway, possibly looking like a demented fool, breathless, wringing his sweaty hands on his robes and looking briefly down to catch his feet slightly turned inwards. He took consolation in the fact that his voice didn't break during his outburst and provide Snape something to laugh at. Harry didn't think he could have lived with that embarrassment.

"I see your intelligence didn't stretch far enough to warn you that you were headed straight for more suffering." Snape didn't look angry. In fact, he didn't look much of anything. He kept grading papers with his hair framing his face and his slender hands working the quill.

Harry gulped. Snape opened his mouth to say something.

"I cannot fathom why would you bring yourself here in the hopes of 'making it up to me', Potter. Your arrogance and insolence don't surprise me because I know they know no bounds. If you are trying to make amends, the only way to do so is with more detention. Enter, boy."

Snape opened the door all the way with a wave of his hand.

"That's…" Harry felt himself on the verge of saying something incredibly stupid so he licked his lips and tried again. "I think you are exasperating, but you don't make me suffer."

The quill stopped in its steady, firm movements. Harry, having walked further into the classroom to stand closer to the desk, could make out Snape's lashes moving in a blink. He stared at them for the briefest of moments, forcing himself to look away and avoid eye contact when Snape's face started to move up. When he caught a glimpse of clear, brown eyes from the periphery of his vision, Harry couldn't help but close his own in nervousness for two eternal seconds.

When he opened them, he waited some more. For anything.

Snape had clearly been expecting something else, because he was there, sitting instead of raving, with a stern face that betrayed nothing. Compared to the outraged expression he could very well be using right now, Harry dared say he had surprised the socks off Snape. He should be regretting saying what he just said, but he didn't.

"I… I… I mean… That's what I meant when I said I would make it up to you. Uh…more detention, that is."

Snape face betrayed nothing until, at last: he furrowed his brow in question. They looked at each other for a few moments, or more like Snape looked at him and Harry looked down at the floor, feeling dizzy by the older man's presence.

Just a few minutes ago, he had been alone in the hall, his mind stepped on by conflicting emotions and now he was here, so confused at seeing Snape being real and close and tangible he just had to question himself: why did he even like Snape? Both their natures could just result in chaos, in crisis, in disaster. Both their circumstances would just end up in pain.

And still, with his green orbs catching sight of long pale hands resting on a parchment, Harry liked him.

A tiny hand crept out of his robe and he remembered why he had brought Agnès to this place. He had had so many plans worked out in his mind to finally clear the Prince enigma, but as usual, all that went away the moment Harry was faced with the hard, edgy, black and white contrasting existence of Severus Snape. All his useless, badly thought out plans had been for naught the second he found himself craving the man in front of him, snuffing his own, more impartial side, the side that could have given him an opportunity to figure out the Prince's identity without risking his neck, his dignity or even worse, the Half-Blood Prince's book.

"Can I…May I attend detention right now?"

Snape raised both eyebrows. "So, Mr Potter resorts to painful task making on Valentine's Day… quite telling."

Harry frowned. He was sure Snape just said that to rile him up. However, he couldn't bring himself to be angry at the man when positive thoughts were spilling out from his mind, each of them more pleasant to think about. Instead of the anger he would have felt had he not fancied Snape, Harry had the sudden, deep, strong desire to tell him something like, 'I hope I could attend detention and have you bugger me later but I'm not sure Dumbledore would appreciate that.'

He had to look away for a moment lest he run out again to the nearest bathroom, even if the possibility of him fleeing provided him with more detentions. Because of this, he didn't notice Snape's closed off expression. He appeared to be…pondering.

"I… didn't want to stall any longer and I don't care much about the holiday."

Snape looked at him intently. "Get out, Potter. You think I don't know what you are planning? I know malicious, small, pranking dunderheads when I see them. You coming here with the purpose of 'attending detention' on this day is merely a ploy to cause mayhem. Apparently your meagre intelligence didn't make you realise that I have seen through your ruse."

The anger was apparently not gone. Harry gritted his teeth so hard he would be making powder of them soon. How dare Snape judge him like that? Hadn't he seen that years of them living in the same castle proved that Harry was not like all the shite the older man liked to spew about him? So they didn't get along swimmingly but Harry had never been anything like that! Snape even managed to call him an idiot. And small, of all things!

Stupid bastard.

_No, Harry, you know he is trying to rile you up. Always trying to rile you up._

There was that wise voice again, nudging him.

Why? Why would Snape try to rile him up? Why?

Harry tried to focus on the now.

"I'm not a prankster and you know it!"

Before he could decide on the next step which was either raving some more inside his head or beating Snape to a pulp, Agnès had emerged from his robe pockets and flew straight at Snape with a big smile on her face.

"Snapies!"

Snape smirked smugly, "So. You said no pranks."

Agnès looked outraged and indignant. "No, no prankz! I do not like to prank! 'Arry 'ere just wanted to tell you that 'e lik-"

"ARGH! Agnès! I… I j-just wanted to tell you I-I would like to attend detention right now!"

Harry's green eyes were so big they were threatening to pop out while his voice resonated against the classroom walls, shrill and annoying. Fuck!

Snape grimaced in distaste while Agnès sat on his head, grinning. Harry was very sure Snape's expression was due to his eardrums shattering and not because of the chubby fairy sitting on his head.

That had been too close for comfort. Managing to stop Agnès before she spilled the beans just made him think of all the nerve-wracking possibilities and subsequent outcomes had he not stopped her on time. All of them disastrous and fatal. Harry hoped the thoughts in his mind stayed there. He looked at the plump cherub with what he hoped was a neutral expression, breathing slow and deep as she rambled on.

"You both are so silly! Snapies, tell 'Arry you fink I'm adorable!"

Snape didn't say anything, which was more revealing than him denying Agnès' claim. He wore an exasperated expression but didn't look revolted, not at Agnès anyway. She laughed, understanding his silence for what it was. With a small thud, she lay down on Snape's head, belly resting on his black tresses. The image they painted was so endearing it bordered on painful. Harry's thoughts jumped around, travelling at alarming speeds, changing from fright to tenderness and back again.

After a few more seconds of silent consideration, Snape sighed imperceptibly; addressing Harry's screamed out request with peculiar coldness.

"Instead of one week you will do two, Potter. Now go away." Snape didn't blink at the radiant smile Harry felt was emanating from his face, but he did look… more tired.

"Isn't there a p-possibility of doing one right now?"

Snape blinked and leaned back, causing Agnès to squeak and grab tiny handfuls of his hair.

"No. Now get out of here"

It was not or never. He just had to do it. It didn't matter if he got no satisfying answer. His sentence got out so fast he was afraid Snape wouldn't understand him.

"I say this because I have some ideas on what to do now. I'm not saying students are allowed to tell the professors what to do but maybe you could hear me out. Maybe I could help you make potions for the infirmary or… I know you don't care but I've been practicing really hard and I'm doing well in potions. I didn't get to have my Advanced Potions book and Professor Slughorn gave Ron and me second hand books and Ron was faster so he kept the one that was more well taken care of and I got that tattered one that was filled with black notes on the potions and it ended up making them perfect and the notes… it's an amazing book so I think I can help…" and then, not letting himself grimace at the lack of tact, sense and _logic_ in his words, Harry slipped a hand inside his robes and got the book out, caressing it with care. He looked at it for a moment, trying to convey the wonder he felt about the book. He put it close to his chest and smiled, gripping the book with delicate fingers. He was sure Snape would be looking at him like he had grown a tree on his head, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"I don't know who that person was, but… they have been helping me out a lot." Harry let the sentence hang there, laden with interest, dripping with meaning.

Everything happened with a particular clarity then, with him feeling the hard cover of the Prince's book in his hands and pressed against his ribcage, grounding himself to earth with it while looking up, straight into Snape's eyes.

The slight widening of them was all he needed.

It had been a mere second of recognition, brown eyes stuck to the grey book in his hands. It made Harry feel like the book was no longer enough to keep him on the ground. He stood there grinning joyfully, feeling all sorts of successful. He felt like he could fly right there, with nothing to hold him back but the ceiling.

Snape _was_ the Prince.

It was as clear as day. As clear as the man's open expression in that minuscule, finite moment. He knew it wasn't supposed to be such a big deal. But it was. It was and very much so.

Harry only managed to stop grinning by pushing strict and cold thoughts into his mind, his cheeks flushed and the tiniest bit hurting.

"Well, I guess this is my cue to go. I know you won't consider this but I would much prefer do my detentions here with you than with Filch, though maybe my saying this was a bad idea," he laughed then, still looking at Snape.

With a turn that made his robes flare, Harry walked to the door, his feet as light as feathers.

The sun was shining, the stone walls orange and the floor absent. The book still close to his chest, an allegory of his heart.

He had gained the doorway and kept walking. He was just about to turn the corner at the end of the hall when Snape called out to him, standing outside the classroom with Agnès on his shoulder. Harry had forgotten about Agnès, but it appeared she was comfortable where she was, swaying back and forth on that black clad shoulder and playing with the Professor's inky tresses.

"Come to detention tomorrow, Potter. Eight o'clock."

"Of course, sir!"

He walked the whole way to the Gryffindor Common Room in high spirits, not even noticing the whole castle was almost empty, not having stumbled upon anyone. Climbing up the stairs to the Tower, he saw The Fat Lady writing a letter and giggling into a laced handkerchief.

"Hullo there."

She looked up and wrinkled the letter in her hands, the oleo of her cheeks flushing up in a deep, bright red that wouldn't be normal in a human.

"Password?"

"Alchimia."

She looked at him with curious eyes, suspicious.

"What are you doing here on such a day at such an hour, Mr Potter? Shouldn't you be with your Valentine?" She winked at him and her eyelids got stuck on her mascara. Harry thought it was unusual because she was, well, a painting. He snickered anyway, complimenting her on her atrocious dress even though it was melting his retinas.

"I'll be with them in a few moments."

"There you go, Harry. Charming young lad you are."

Harry smiled at her, going through the portrait's hole and thinking there was no way in heaven or hell or the ground in between that he could ever offer the smile he subconsciously offered to Snape to someone else. Ever.

It was particularly surreal to see the Common Room deserted, with nothing but the sounds of the ever going fireplace and the wind entering through the open windows. It looked ample and spacious without any of the Gryffindors cluttering up the place. When he arrived at his bedroom, the sight of a messy stack of parchments, letters, sweets and perfumes made him groan. At least he could distract himself until it was time to go to the Three Broomstick to meet up with his friends.

Levitating the whole pile of presents onto his bed, he started sorting through them, separating them into three neat piles: sweets, paper stuff and perfumes.

Because he felt that letters, cards and scrolls were the things people would have spent the most time on making, he decided to get through those later. There was the possibility of the chocolates being handmade but sweets and perfume were the most likely to hold crafty love charms, so he decided to deal with them first.

Looking down at a rosy pink bottle with the shape of a swan made him frown in distaste; not at the sender, but at himself. There was a time when he hadn't thought people considering him desirable enough to resort to things like Love Potions. Every time someone mentioned his "charm" he felt flabbergasted and sceptical about the status he held as some sort of teen idol. But after the hard lessons of experience and two years of gambolling around like a bunny in love behind someone he hadn't even known back then, Harry preferred to consider himself a paranoid, crazy young man. Who would know? Maybe Voldemort had slipped in a Love Potion and was waiting for Harry to fall in love with him and then, with a grand finale, Voldemort would lure him into his cave and kill him. The most tragic love story.

With a shake of his head, Harry focused on the task at hand.

He knew most Love Potions didn't need skin contact to come into full effect. A mere whiff would be more than enough to trigger it. With a smirk, he thought that breaking curfew with Hermione and Ron, making powder of the rules they broke and reading forbidden stuff at night proved to be very useful. One by one, he started casting Revealing Spells at every single fragrance, making sure there was nothing in them that could hinder his ability to think rationally. Only then did he grab the bottle, open it and put it close to his nose to smell the contents. Some of them were nice; others appeared to smell like soiled socks or Dragon Dung. He didn't know if that was deliberate or not. Either the senders had awful taste or his detection spells had damaged the liquid inside, destroying the original composition. He couldn't bring himself to feel too bad about it given that five of the fragrances did contain Love Potions. He engorged one of the perfume boxes until all five of them could fit comfortably in it, before sticking on a big label that said, 'Careful, these perfumes are not safe,' hoping his distracted friends got the meaning before they found themselves swooning for unknown individuals.

Once he had gone through all of them, he couldn't help but consider the possibility of one of the perfume containing something he couldn't detect. He looked into space and waited for something to happen, as if suddenly he was going to feel a deep romantic obsession for someone nameless. He didn't. He also considered himself poisoned with some sort of late-effect Potion but he hoped that if that happened, someone would notice his strange behaviour. With Hermione being there with him almost all the time, he relaxed and left his wellbeing in her and Ron's hands.

Going through the chocolates and sweets was the same, but he didn't want to taste them. He was sure he was pretty adept at Revealing Charms given the number of times he had cast them, but his mind was more at ease when it was Hermione doing them.

That just left the letters. He still did some cursory spells on them. Turns out most of them had animation charms and a few were spelled to repel water. Did they expect him to cry tears of gratitude? He hoped that was not the case.

Reading the first one made him think it was going to be a long, boring night.

Harry felt flattered, really, he did. He just couldn't fathom why anyone would feel the way they did about him. Some of these he was sure were from people he didn't even know or meet or maybe even see. He was just considering maybe it was just an exaggeration of their feelings, because they would be disappointed if they met the real him, which wasn't that much of a deal.

Even then, the occasional sweetness of the letters, parchments and cards didn't destroy the fact that at least half of them were quite boring to read and at some point, predictable and repetitive. They were not that many, not like Ginny's big stack when they had gone out of breakfast that morning and the one lying beside the fireplace, which Ginny hadn't even gotten near to.

Then, things took an unexpected turn when he read himself making love to some guy named Eddie. The author explained he was a boy but too shy to say his real name in case somebody but Harry read the letter, hence the moniker 'Eddie'. The boy suggested that they meet after class to do these things. It was fine if it was just for practice, but boy, was Harry so fucking hot! Harry blushed at that, his thought turning, for the umpteenth time that year, to Snape. Would he think Harry attractive?

Stop that, Potter.

Apart from that one erotic, short story, all of them were of the same variety. A few contained rather excellent poems and thoughts, so he kept them to show to Hermione, thinking she would appreciate them more. Some of them were letters from friends telling him they appreciated his friendship. A letter each from Hermione, Ron, Neville, Parvati and Dean.

Reaching the one that was in bright blue parchment, Harry couldn't help but grin at the name written at the bottom. It was Luna.

**Dear Harry, **

**I see you, you know. Standing there looking endless and wise while you don't realise it. I wanted to write that. I wanted you to know it. Do you mind? I hope you don't, you are very precious to me. **

**I could have written this before, but I think this day gives me an opportunity to do it without having to wait for judgment. **

**I also love you. I hope you don't mind about that either. If you do I will not have a chance to take you away and show you many things. I want us all to go to North Scandinavia and hear Giggling-Horned Bears. It's said their giggle is soothing and calming, everything I feel when I'm with you, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Neville. I hope they like my letters.**

**I should tell you something meaningful, like what I've told them, but I don't have anything right now except some advice:**

**Tell him how you feel. You once told me I should tell people I care about that I love them it's too late, and I agreed. I think you know who I'm talking about. I see the way you look at him. You look at him the way my dad used to look at my mom. I think you know what that means. I see him looking at you sometimes too. Did you notice?**

**I also fear for you. Just thinking about it makes me… unbearably sad.**

**Tell him how you feel before it's too late.**

**P.S. It is said that too many nargles are a sign of bad things happening. You are so full of them, Harry. More reasons to go and see Giggling-Horned Bears, they cleanse you of nargles.**

**Luna.**

Harry didn't have the time to feel anything close to tenderness or gratitude when the letter wriggled its way out of his hands and started… transforming. His thoughts stopped at the sight. The parchment folded and twisted itself with rustling sounds until before him, a blue fairy made of parchment stood. It was slender and delicate and had a heart shaped face which was scrunched up in a sweet smile. It opened its mouth to sing in an airy voice that sounded very familiar.

"_Love is like the wild rose-briar,  
>Friendship like the holly-tree -<br>The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms  
>But which will bloom most constantly?<br>The wild-rose briar is sweet in the spring,  
>Its summer blossoms scent the air;<br>Yet wait till winter comes again  
>And who will call the wild-briar fair?<br>Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now  
>And deck thee with the holly's sheen,<br>That when December blights thy brow  
>He may still leave thy garland green."<em>

He looked at the blue fairy for a long time after the song ended. Calm until he rubbed his eyes with his palm.

He was crying.

**-0-**

He watched her for a long time as she jumped with thin feet all over his bed, singing with soft "la, la, la" and looking at him with hollow, black eyes. Then she lay down on his bed, sprawled over it with hands caressing the bed sheets, looking up at the drapes and closing her eyes as if she were about to die. Then she stopped moving.

He didn't know why, but her stopping made his heart ache in nostalgia.

The letter had been a cluttered mess of the best thing anyone had ever written to him in his life. He would dare say this single, messy, heartfelt letter was standing right next to Snape's Potion Advanced book. His words had more sophistication, but the feeling was the same and even better, this letter had been written solely for him. He knew Luna was the most perceptive person he had ever met, second only to Hermione. Luna was as wise as she was eternal, with her messy blonde hair and crystal blue eyes, sharp as a quill. Who would have guessed that Luna could be so open in her letters? It was like every barrier she hid behind dissolved within the parchment. He also didn't know she was insecure, her tone soft and hesitant. He felt for her too.

Harry would never have guessed it was her but for the distinctive signature that marked all her work. The sighting of creatures no one but she and probably her dad had ever seen. And followed by that, a grand finale of everything her affection was. A fairy singing in her voice.

Once the fairy was inside the box, he sat with his legs crossed and his eyes roamed the dormitory until he remembered he still had one more gift that was yet to be opened. Digging inside his robes, he pulled out a letter, wrinkled but otherwise intact. The cherub had been very clear about him opening it 'tomorrow night' but he didn't know at what time he was supposed to open it. Throwing caution to the wind, he ripped the little wax seal off and took out the single sheet of parchment inside it.

There was nothing written on it. How would he know when to open it? Maybe it would tell him with some sort of message or sign: vibrate or start singing or heating up. What did the cherub mean by night? Maybe he would have to carry it from sunset to dawn in the hopes of seeing something else but blankness. Would he even be able to see what it was written after the predetermined time? What if he missed the opportunity and didn't get to see anything?

There was no point dwelling over it. The safest choice was to carry it all night tomorrow and wait.

He was so pent up with emotions he missed the meeting at the Three Broomsticks. Once he realised how late he was, he shrugged and stayed there on his bed, looking at everything and thinking of so many things he was thinking of nothing at all.

With the silent ambiance of the dorm making him sleepy, he changed into his pyjamas and lay down in bed, taking three scrolls of parchment out of his schoolbag and writing letters for Ron, Hermione and Luna. He didn't know what he wrote nor how long they were, but his hands worked diligently. Once the three parchments were secure on his nightstand, he went to brush his teeth and didn't bother with the ink stain across his palm.

**-0-**

Harry felt a sort of uncomfortable warmth on the side of his right thigh. He was too sleepy and drowsy to mind, but the room was warm and stuffy, which made that heat uncomfortable. Groaning and trying to go back to sleep, he turned around.

He lay there for a few seconds, aware he was not going to be able to sleep anymore. Turning around yet again, he realised that uncomfortable warmth was still there. Opening his eyes, he saw a smudge of red and a smiling blurry face looking down at him.

"You've been waking up too bloody early, Ron."

A light laugh found its way into his ears. "You are the one that has been waking up in the afternoon, Harry. You have been sleeping even more than me!"

Rubbing his eyes and putting on his glasses, Harry saw that Ron's smile was not of happiness, but a strange mix of nostalgia and mirth.

"What happened?" He felt dread building up inside him. If the shiniest person he knew had that kind of face it could just mean something had happened.

Ron's lip quivered until he plopped himself down onto his bed and hugged Harry.

"I love you too, Harry!" he wailed, cuddling with him and sobbing into his neck. On the other side of the dormitory was Neville, who was smiling slightly. He shrugged at Harry's questioning face.

"He read the letter you wrote him. He was rather appreciative of it and kept rambling on about it. The guys teased him, but they got bored and went out to have a late lunch."

"Thanks, Neville. Oh! I…I'm sorry I didn't write anything for you. I was writing but my brain has been all fuzzy these past days and I went to sleep right after finishing Ron's letter."

Neville made a careless motion with his hand, grinning. "Don't worry, Harry. You have done too much for me to think you just didn't want to write a letter. I think all of us in the Gryffindor House agree you have been quite distracted. Ron told me about you falling down the stairs once," Neville couldn't help but snort. Standing up and flushing a little bit at seeing Harry and Ron in bed together, he cleared his throat.

"I'm going down to have lunch. And Harry, Ron is right. You have been waking up rather late."

Harry and Ron continued lying in bed together until Hermione entered the dormitory and blushed at the sight of them cuddling. Harry grinned at seeing her almost imperceptible jealous expression. She walked up with erratic steps and sat on Ron's bed.

Muffled by Harry's neck, Ron spoke. "You should have read what Harry wrote me, Hermione," he sniffled, pulling Harry tighter against him and kissing his cheek, very near to his neck.

Hermione pursed her lips, but Harry wasn't sure if it was because of Ron kissing him, of them together in bed, or her wanting to read the letter.

"I got one for you too, Hermione, it's on my nightstand."

Hermione stood up and went over to pick up the letter just to come back and throw herself on Ron's bed. She looked the tiniest bit put out, but her expression was priceless so Harry didn't move, grinning while Hermione pulled on the thread of the parchment and unfolded it, enjoying her pout too much.

That changed when, after ten minutes of Hermione's face changing in a vast array of emotions, she teared up and started crying against her hand.

"Come 'ere," Harry said.

And there they lay on Harry's bed, the three of them sobbing like toddlers and hugging each other. Sandwiched in the middle, Harry gave Hermione and Ron both a kiss on their heads and they kissed his forehead in return. It was no longer Valentine 's Day, but it really didn't matter.

After a while, they stood up and waited for Harry to wash up and dress to go down to the Great Hall.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** The particular lyrics for a Cauldron of Hot Strong Love are my own. I changed the original premise for them to fit the story :)

Review, please?

**Edit:** I forgot to mention that the song the fairy sang in Luna's voice is a poem titled Love and Friendship by Emily Brontë.


	3. To be or not to be

**Title:** Thorny Roses Falling Wilted to the Ground.

**Complete summary:** ( or 'Peace of Mind') The only option was admiration from afar. To look surreptitiously from under his lashes until he had Snape's image imprinted in his brain, hoping this crush would go away once his heart realised it was a pointless attachment.

**Word Count:** 10,096.

**Chapter:** (3/4)

**Themes:** Introspection, acceptance, unnecessary dilemmas.

**Genres:** A dose of light angst.

**Warnings:** Not gonna give them, but for the people that asked: **this chapter has Snape's POV :)**

**Beta:** Yen not only has stood by me at my worst. I did give her a hard time all these months because of this story. She has taught me a great amount, being nice and lovely despite my hissy fits and my laziness. Without her support and guidance, this story wouldn't be the same. At. All.

**Dedication:** To YenGirl and the wondrous readers that put this on alert and added the story to their favourites. A big "thank you" to the readers that reviewed despite knowing I hadn't updated since... I don't even want to think about it.

**Notes:** Who would guess that this story would be much longer than it is? Just when I was about to polish chapter three, I read the final version and realised I didn't like how it ended. That it could be much better. With that in mind, I started rewriting a good chunk of it, but stopped because of RL. Be it final projects or personal issues, the time I could spend writing became almost non-existent, and I had greater obligation to use that meagre free time working with YenGirl on her continuation of the Marriage Stone. It is much compelling to work for someone rather than work for yourself, given that is harder to face the disappointment of someone else than your own, especially when that someone is YenGirl, which I wouldn't dare disappoint.

When I finally got the free time I so needed, I got struck with a bad case of writer's block. I don't know if it was me having a hard time getting the feeling of the story again, or maybe I was lacking inspiration, or perhaps it was my laziness. Despite this, Yen coaxed me to keep going and finish the story. In the two months I had of vacation, I finished the story (somewhat).

Either way, I knew I had to update these days. If not, I wouldn't have the time to do it until late November, when I'm free of school.

I apologise to all the people that read my story and expected an update sooner. As it is, the story is now much longer, and I had to split it because the second part is still undergoing changes and I couldn't wait to update (let's not forget Yen helped me to see I needed to update right now).

As always, any left mistakes are my own. It is, to my utter shame, recommended that you read the first two chapters again if you don't quite remember what's going on :/

* * *

><p><strong><em>Chapter 3.<em>**

**_To be or not to be._**

Given that the cherubs were going to stay there until next Saturday, it looked like all week was going to be Valentine's Day. Confetti littered the floor, vivid pink drapes still hung from the windows of the castle; giving the halls a rosy tint and making the students look like they were trapped in a perpetual blush. Cherubs flew around the students in the Great Hall, blew them kisses and then nicked bits of food from their hands.

At lunch that Sunday, Harry saw Agnès sitting on the table right in front of Snape, chewing on pieces of bread the man gave her and talking in a loud, high pitched voice, accompanying her stories with animated hand movements. It seemed they had formed a bond of sorts if her constant presence was anything to go by. Harry could tell everyone was curious about Snape's lack of derision –or any negative reaction- towards her, noticeably because he didn't seem to mind her babble, often responding with a formal tone to her inquiries. They both looked like the strangest combination, adopting serious expressions -and in the case of Snape, a deeper frown- that signified they could be talking about the meaning of life.

Harry couldn't imagine Snape talking about tablecloths, romance novels or body glitter; in fact, he couldn't imagine Snape talking about anything but obscure, classified knowledge about magic. Maybe he was discussing the attributes of African rituals in nurturing Earth's Magical core with Agnès and she was actually not just a Cupid but also a necromancer.

Either way, the constant babble from the girls let Harry know of one thing: they all thought it the cutest thing. Seamus, frank as always, wondered why that was.

"How the fuck is that adorable?"

As if called to participate in class, Hermione slipped in her answer, not without reprimanding Seamus first.

"He is a very serious, strict and cold man, and his appearance kind of makes that even more obvious. Such a cute thing not getting obliterated by his wand makes a contrast, don't you think? I think it's endearing."

Seamus looked incredulous. He wasn't the only one looking like that. "Oh yeah, let's all squeal because he doesn't destroy the fairy. How romantic," he said, rolling his eyes.

Harry also thought it was ridiculous, but girls were always weird about stuff.

Stealing another glance at the odd pair, he couldn't help but replace Agnès with himself. It was an almost instinctive impulse to ponder on the possibilities between them.

How would people react if they saw him talking the same way Agnès was talking with Snape?

He wondered what it would be like to interact with the man in that laid-back, casual way. What it would be like to act like that in public and just exchange a few words he could almost take it for granted? Snape would probably prefer to die from choking on Acid Pop than talk to him with such familiarity. If Harry were honest with himself, he would also choke on a sweet for thinking such things.

A nudge on his arm made him look towards Hermione. She gave him a soft, playful smile and leaned forward to whisper "Not jealous, are you, Harry?"

Harry frowned, feeling something faint right where his heart was. It felt itchy. He stared at her, confused and uneasy, just like he always felt when talking about Snape.

He wasn't jealous, Harry knew. It was the fact that feeling something so deep and rather explosive like jealousy was useless considering his situation.

Harry had never been a boy that dwelled on improbable things lest he drown in hope, without it ever being something but blind delusion. It seemed this was an exception.

Trying to bury that strange feeling, he glared at her. "I'll show you jealous, Hermione. Now I'm going to snog Ron and see what you think about that."

Hermione widened her eyes, caught off guard. It was an outrageous threat, one that, after a second, Harry hoped was heard by no one but her.

He didn't manage to distract her and he felt foolish right afterwards for thinking he could.

"Harry…" Hermione murmured, moving her hand to lay it on his. That he could feel something as sombre as what his expression showed seemed to sober up her previous light-heartedness. She looked at him, inquisitiveness and a touch of sorrow mixed in her eyes.

Harry could feel the sorrow himself, an unpleasant, rough ache. Despite that, he decided he wouldn't let himself get down because of the impossibilities in life – _when did he ever?-,_ and as much as he appreciated her concern, it also made him roll his eyes in exasperation at her, and at himself.

"Hermione… don't. I'm stronger than that," he grunted. He couldn't help but pour in a little bit of indignation that had Hermione smiling at him. Was she expecting him to be all weepy and sad?

"Aw, Harry, you are so cute."

Harry raised an eyebrow while she gushed, then he looked away in a strong attempt to keep going with a normal breakfast. He played with his food for a moment, no longer hungry.

Looking around the table, he spotted Ginny just beside Parvati, who was two seats down across the table. She, maybe feeling eyes locked on her, lifted her face. Harry didn't know what expression to expect. He was sure he didn't warrant puffy, red eyes or sadness across her face, but he was pleasantly surprised to see her relaxed, stuffing her face with shepherd's pie and talking with all her friends. When their eyes met, she gave him a genuine smile and kept on talking.

He had to look away then, feeling selfish for not really wanting to know if her expression stayed the same, or if it changed. It was enough to know she had always been a rather stubborn, hot-headed person. A rejection would not be strong enough to wilt her fiery personality.

**-0-**

After lunch, Ron, Hermione and Harry went to the library to start on their homework; Ron and Harry intent on playing once they got back to the Gryffindor Common Room and Hermione intent on finishing homework due for next week.

In the middle of a glossary they were to make for Herbology class, Harry remembered about his detention.

"Hey, guys, uh…I kind of have detention tonight…"

His best friends didn't even blink. They probably thought he had involved himself in something worthy of punishment when he didn't show up at the Three Broomsticks yesterday.

"What did you do now, mate? Did you go hunting with the Centaurs? Did you liberate all the house elves here in Hogwarts? Did you go have a cuppa with Quidditch players? You know you have to tell about those," Ron huffed, shaking his head.

Harry snorted.

"I told you I had detention for spilling ink on Snape's robes. For a week."

"Yeah, but on a Sunday? His cruelty knows no bounds."

Harry didn't like how that sounded. He had the urge to tell them it was his fault he got detention because he had _begged_ for it, but he would have to explain why he did that and hunting with Centaurs and then turning himself in didn't sound like a plausible excuse. He couldn't tell them that Snape made something inside him snap and the thought of it made him have an orgasm in a bathroom.

He could just imagine their responses now. Ron would think he was making a bad joke and Hermione would think maybe that's what happened but wouldn't pry further.

"Yeah…uh, I know, right?" Harry's smile was twisted, which Ron interpreted as him agreeing to his claim.

**-0-**

The next few hours spent doing homework were quiet, with them writing, stealing a few glances at Hermione's parchment and munching on the occasional liquorice wand. It was completed without delay mostly because Ron and Harry now knew the value of focusing on it to finish in record time. After realising that whispered jokes and muffled laughs didn't get them nearer to the free time they so adored, they decided to adopt the principle of 'work first, play later'. They also knew Hermione was more amenable to help them if they acted with discipline; it was now a well-established dynamic between the three of them.

Now that they were done, Ron lay with his upper body half sprawled on the table, snoring like there was no tomorrow, tired of being obedient for too long. Hermione, knowing his snores were loud enough to be heard across continents, cast a Silencing Charm.

With nothing interesting to do, Harry slouched in his seat, staring at the dust particles floating above him, bright and white with the evening sunlight entering through the windows. The he looked down, glancing at a brown bushy blur to his left.

"What time is it, Hermione?"

"Six o'clock."

Homework had been an almost successful distraction, but staring at his friend perusing a book wasn't enough to keep Harry's mind off the upcoming detention. Sticking his bottom lip out, he crossed his arms and lay them on the table, his ching making contact with his arms in a rather undignified slump. Watching Ron's wide open mouth made him decide right there that a nap was the way to go, so he closed his eyes, willing himself to feel drowsy enough.

A bird chirped outside the nearest window. He lifted his eyelids enough to gaze over the long rows of bookcases to his right, his bottom lip protruding even more. Turning his head, and not caring much about his glasses digging into his nose, he sighed into his sleeve, blinking and feeling his lashes brush the rim of them. Not even such menial actions managed to veer him off his current fixation. It appeared his attempt to have his mind cleared of all things Snape wasn't working.

Closing his eyes again in resignation, he let himself be swept off by thoughts of tonight's… appointment.

He had no reasons to hope for anything, Harry told himself. The most probable thing was that, being a detention, he had to do detention related stuff. It was pretty easy to _foresee_. It was quite dumb to expect something else.

Harry, to accompany the occasion, imagined a tiny Ron inside his head rolling his eyes sarcastically._ Nawwww, really?_

He puffed his cheeks, an emotion assaulting him. It felt quite like despair, this thing in his stomach, getting heavier because of bloody Snape and his detentions. It was a tiny ball of "what if's" that Harry wanted to explore, but couldn't. Or maybe he could, but it was very clear he shouldn't.

In all the years he had been at Hogwarts, getting "his way" had been quite a contradictory business. It had never been about doing what he desired the most, but what he thought was best, even if it involved having rules broken with no consequential recrimination.

In fact, the only person who had ever seen it as him doing whatever he pleased was Snape himself, with sarcastic wit between thin lips ready to let Harry feel the full brunt of his deep seated hatred. It was quite ironic that the same person, who blamed Harry for succumbing to his desires, was now the centre of his attention. He was now Harry's so despised and abhorred desire, something so raw it made Harry suffer the urge to squirm and do something stupid at odd intervals in time.

It was only due that, upon finally admitting the strange, acute feelings Snape evoked in him, the notion of "desire" would crumble beneath the harsh force of reality. How easy it could have been if Harry's feelings were more of the fluffy, romantic sort, with him floating around rainbows and clouds, sporting a grin on his face and bad poetry on the tip of his tongue. Those were the kind of feelings that didn't try to carve messages on his heart.

But here he was, with something heavy sitting in the pit of his stomach and a sick feeling in his chest. Like a bad cold waiting for the right moment to make its ugly appearance, making Harry feel heavy and dizzy, a combination he dreaded, and, to his inner bafflement, also craved.

Outside of his mind, he found himself tightening his fists, listening for the continued sounds of Hermione's quill on parchment.

What would it be like? To indulge in that disease he had up until now held at arms' length. The disease with sharp eyes and even sharper tongue. He could picture it now; walk towards the DADA classroom and go straight to the source of his heart ache. Knock on that grumbling door that liked telling dirty jokes when Snape wasn't around.

And then a story like a fairy tale would take place, with Harry strolling down the length of the classroom like some sort of Muggle prince ready to face the greatest challenge of all. He would close the curtains with a flick of his wand to avoid having the stars as witnesses and confess his feelings while looking straight into intense, chocolate orbs.

It would be the stupidest, un-wisest thing Harry could do.

It was also the one he wanted most.

To tell Snape "I like you" and then wait for the Final Judgment.

If only this time, after everything that his life consisted of, he could just do what he wanted. Not what was right, or correct, or good, but what he desired; make Snape's accusations true at last, and do as he pleased.

Harry wanted to know more, to discover. He wanted to dig deep inside the spy and see…. what was hidden behind that expressionless pale face and find the culprit behind his heart ache.

But he wouldn't.

Instead, he would resort to admiration from afar, looking surreptitiously from under his lashes until he had Snape's image imprinted in his brain forever, trying to convince himself that Snape looked at him with hatred instead of that blank, morose expression he was getting lately.

_Why? Why did I have to like him?_

The reasons seemed to never end, adding to the weight that dragged his heart along the ground, waiting to be stomped on if he dared to open his mouth. His heart insisted, throbbing with that itchy, uncomfortable feeling that made him want to scratch something, to tear it apart and…

It started building up inside him again, clawing to find a way out. It was despair that fed on helplessness.

Feeling a hand on his forearm made his thoughts scatter like scared cats. Harry blinked one eye open, looking up at Hermione. He had forgotten where he was for a moment.

Her eyes were roaming the room and then she whispered, "Harry, are you okay?"

Her eyes were huge with concern, her hand tight on his, as if pulling him from an imaginary abyss he was falling into.

Harry didn't know if he wanted to burst into noisy, desperate, bitter tears or laugh until his sides ached. He opted for neither, smiling a painful grin, cheek muscles twitching. It ended up looking like a grimace if Hermione's expression was anything to go by, because worry was now etched onto every line on her face.

"Yeah, I'm chuffed, can't you see?"

Hermione made a grimace of her own, tightening her grip. She leaned close and Harry could smell her perfume, flowery and soft.

"Yeah. You don't need to get smart with me."

"Sorry, ma."

"Stop that, Harry. It's not working. Tell me, what's wrong?"

"You can't blame me for trying."

Hermione blinked, looking at him with wide eyes.

"Are you done?"

They stared at each other for a moment. Harry trying to pull himself together and Hermione waiting for him. Then she straightened up and glanced at Ron. He was fast asleep and mumbling things they couldn't hear because of the spell. She looked back at Harry.

"Do you actually have detention with Professor Snape?"

"I do have…which kind of sucks."

Hermione smiled in sympathy.

"Why you ask?" Harry asked her.

"I thought you wanted to do something crazy again…"

"Crazy how?"

"I don't know. Go and confess your feelings to him."

"Ha ha, I wish."

"Come on, Harry. I know you…I… think you should. I think you deserve some sort of closure."

Harry heard the sound of something snapping inside him. He could throttle Hermione because of it. Instead he moved his hand to envelop hers, squeezing.

"Closure? You really have a way with words, don't you, Hermione? I didn't know closure went hand in hand with craziness." He looked at her drolly, his whole body tense.

Hermione ignored him.

"I think you should tell him. There is a big chance of him not believing you, but I think you really should."

He blinked. There was the despair again, which didn't really disappear, making a stronger comeback. It was exciting and frightening at the same time. If, despite not knowing about them, Hermione agreed to his thoughts… Crazy how just a few seconds ago that tight ball in the pit of his stomach was made of helplessness and resignation, now it seemed to be more about anxiety.

He regarded her with a serious expression that left no room for commiseration. Inside, he was a wreck.

"…Hermione. What would I gain with him knowing? It's just a stupid crush."

He was pushing it, but he needed her to say it again.

"Peace of mind, maybe. And your expression back at the Great Hall tells me it's not just 'a stupid crush.'"

"It _is_ a stupid crush, Hermione. I don't even _know who he is_…"

"But you want to know."

Harry stared at her. She looked serious and calm, her eyes reassuring and her hand warm in his. He licked his lips, searching her expression for the infamous "I'm always right" shine in her eyes and finding it there, washed with nostalgia and understanding that, after all this time, he still couldn't get accustomed to. It made him feel uncomfortable and indecisive, a combination he knew very well. It was the combination that always made him head straight into trouble.

Combined with that latent anxiety, Harry was starting to get fidgety.

Just when the idea of distant admiration started to sound appealing, hoping his crush would go away once his heart realised it was a pointless attachment.

That idea didn't sound as good as it had moments ago.

Harry grimaced.

"Yeah…"

There were whole mountains separating him and Snape from ever being cordial to each other. Harry suspected, with a good dose of bitter mirth, that a hypothetical hell would freeze just so they could be cordial to each other.

Then they would go skating on it. Very likely.

Was it even just a crush? Did a crush made him want to do something as crazy as telling the man of these feelings he _passionately harboured_? Surely it was meant to be, and they would have a life like a fairy tale. Irony always made Harry smile, if only a little.

Was it something so deep he would go to any lengths just to have Snape to himself, or at least make him aware of these desires?

On the surfaces of his thoughts and ideals and ambitions, Harry was sure of only one thing. It was just self-delusion, but it did not change his mind.

He wanted to tell Severus Snape about his feelings.

It seemed that Hermione was the drop needed to overflow the glass.

That still didn't explain why she wanted him to confess. The normal, adequate, _sensible_ thing to do would be to get over it; after all, they all knew that fancying a professor was not abnormal, and students mostly never bothered to address it. He was going to tell her that, but there was, as always, something telling him to go for it and stop questioning Hermione. Forget about the reasons, go for that old way of doing things that always worked for him and just…

It made an appearance again, the little voice inside his head telling him to head straight into trouble. Harry was rather fond of that voice. Disobeying it was alarmingly impossible for him now.

He would go there and have a feel of the flames of hell. At least he would not go away without having some type of answer. Closure, as Hermione called it.

"Alright..." he finally said, feeling the trace of a light blush on his cheeks. It was almost like fifth year once again, when he stayed alone with Cho in the Room of Requirement. However, the magnified feelings of dread, embarrassment and nervousness made the difference. Compared to the softer emotions he had felt for Cho then, this was a veritable thunderstorm.

"Maybe you should go now, Harry."

"Why, what time is it?" he whispered, eyes wide, making Hermione supress a tiny, smug smirk.

She flicked her wand and green round numbers appeared before them: 7:05. It was still early. There was more than plenty of time to get there, but Hermione knew him well enough, and he needed the extra time.

"I should go."

With a kiss on her temple, Harry stood up and put his arms up in the air, pulling his body upwards like he wanted to touch the ceiling, standing on tiptoes. Grabbing his books, essays and stuffing them into his schoolbag, he walked out of the Library, not looking back at Hermione in case seconds thoughts sprung up in both their minds. It was better to go ahead and avoid thinking about anything, something Harry was adept at doing and something even Hermione used once in a while.

Harry took the longest way to the dormitory, passing through pink halls and going to the Gryffindor tower with nothing but Snape on his mind. He encountered the Fat Lady, murmuring the password and tripping when, quite candidly, she told him he looked like someone in love.

He went to his dormitory to grab gloves, a scarf, winter robes and boots from his trunk, shuffling stuff around, listening to his roommates' loud voices.

They were playing a Muggle game called poker, joking between themselves.

Neville looked at him and asked where he was going. Harry opted to say he was going to take a walk alone, clear up his head from all the amount of gibberish he had crammed into his head while doing homework with Hermione. The guys nodded their sympathy and he smiled in relief. None of them asked anything else.

Going close to his nightstand, he pulled out the blasted envelope that he had received yesterday, along with all those Valentine gifts. The parchment was still blank. It was night already. He wondered if he had lost the chance to see anything, but hoped that wasn't the case.

Coming down from Gryffindor tower, Harry went directly to the entrance of the castle to reach the south wing the same way he had done yesterday. He looked outside, the dark snow adorned with the flickering lights of the fireplaces inside the castle, shining through giant windows. He walked down the steps, minding where his feet landed.

The path was wet and the weather cold, but he basked in it, feeling the cold on his cheeks, numbing his nose, concentrating on his steps while his robes made a path on the white snow. Pulling his wand out, he cast a Warming Charm, leaving a shiny thread of wet and dark green behind him.

The black and starry sky distracted him from the nervousness growing in his stomach, his body more focused on the simplest of tasks; his breathing, the slight sound of his shoes crunching the thick snow underfoot. It was a very simple existence, at least for the moment.

**-o-**

There was a knock on the door.

Casting a tempus, he saw "7:55".

Sighing imperceptibly, Severus said clearly into the air, "Enter."

With an appalling handling of thin extremities hidden behind layers of wool, Harry Potter stumbled inside the classroom, leaving white trails of snow at the door and a crystal smudge of water on the floor.

More out of habit than true exasperation, Severus sneered. "Don't make a mess of my classroom, Potter."

The brat looked up from the frosty mess he was, bright green eyes lighting up even more when locking onto his visage. Severus saw the eyes, the chin, the nose, and the rosy cheeks. The contrasts, sharper than he expected.

There was the joyful smile that seemed to bloom on Potter's face every time his eyes landed on him. Eyes half closed with cheeks high in his face, wrinkles forming around them. Now that Severus could bring himself to look at those expressions without letting the partial, hateful, angry side of his person regard them, the meaning of that happy countenance took on an unidentifiable, _almost_ imperceptible flutter to bloom inside his chest.

Severus was going to regret this someday, very soon.

"I'm sorry, sir."

Did the young man even realise it? How laden his words were with adoration, how blatantly obvious he was with his affection? The boy seemed to have some sort of eye ailment, blinking at him with doe eyes and long lashes, looking foolish.

It was surprising that no one else had noticed the boy's displays, seeing how blunt and guileless they were. Or maybe it shouldn't be, since the student body was as dim as dirty rags.

Or, as it always was, Severus managed to perceive things that no one else bothered to notice.

Lack of control it might be, but he couldn't help remember all the times the young man looked at him. A glance in the corridors, a glimpse in the Great Hall, a stare in the classroom. It was a mere flash of green eyes passing along his memory at top speed while the young man stood there, expectant, looking at his blank expression without knowing of the mess inside.

Ahhh, how droll, Severus thought of himself, to act like the disorientated fool in love. Shameful.

Contemplating the improbable, he could almost see himself sighing to thoughts of this smallish miscreant while gazing into snot coloured eyes.

Potter blinked with deliberate slowness, looking up from under his lashes, breaking the horrid visuals.

No, not snot coloured at all. More like…

"What am I going to do, sir?"

Severus did sigh right then. It was easier to go back and think exactly like he did back in January, when it was automatic and _needed_ to consider those green eyes on him as a filthy, malicious joke; but like everything Harry Potter, there was always the element of surprise, those looks taking the metaphorical shape of a huge club that hit a wall inside his brain. To Severus' utter disquiet, the club spelled the words 'Common Sense'.

He realised he wasn't blind or even stubborn enough to stay within the frame of mind that had offered comfort to his tired person for many years even before Potter came to Hogwarts; the particular frame of mind that abided itself with a simple rule: Harry Potter was nothing but a particularly enhanced version of Potter Senior.

Years back, it had been downright impossible to separate this young man from the image of his father, but every year after his coming to Hogwarts, and with a hot-headedness known only in the Evans family, the young man got something out of those huge drags passing off as sleeves and blew Severus' mind away time after time until Severus felt nothing but a weary, tired sense of duty towards him and on good days, an almost, not quite, minuscule appreciation for the young man as he was.

Turns out stupidity could really be chivalry sometimes.

Back to the current moment, and with the young man standing there, looking at him with earnest eyes, it seemed the changing conception Severus had experienced these two months was taking shape, reaching a solid state that seemed to be meeting yet another significant transformation. It didn't help that such a clumsy young man managed to get him so distracted. He hadn't been five minutes inside the classroom and Severus had already made a thesis on his eyes. It seems to be a hint, that.

"Today, you will use that ladder and dust off the curtains. It is very cold, so I'll have you wash the tables tomorrow afternoon, when you come back from your classes."

The boy had the strangest expressions on, alternating between disappointment and an airy, pleasant almost smile.

"Yes, sir. It is very cold indeed."

Severus frowned. The brat looked too self-satisfied, skipping down the classroom with odd, dangling arms and legs. Ah, so maybe he had interpreted his precaution of avoiding having students in his care die from pneumonia as some sort of confession.

Severus knew exactly why that made him the littlest bit uncomfortable.

Shedding his heavy, winter robe and leaving it messily folded on the desk nearest to him, Potter went to the cupboard at the back and messed around with the cleaning stuff inside.

Severus, quite capable of working on the essays he had there lying on the table, kept thinking about something he didn't know the meaning of, or rather, something he didn't want to know the meaning of. That undefinable something closely related to the individual making a racket inside his cleaning cupboard. Potter's presence was clearly making him forget about his priorities.

How strenuous it was to be so frank sometimes, even inside his mind.

Coming out a few minutes later with Miss Agnès on his head, Potter smiled at him yet again. Mindless and honest. The fairy grinned and, without the boy's eye on her, winked at Severus.

"'Allo, Sev'rus! 'Arry invited me 'ere! 'E 'az been very nervouz! 'E wanted me to 'elp him tell you 'e lik-"

"AAAY!" The boy tripped on his own feet and landed in an undignified heap on the floor. Miss Agnès, playful creature that she was, grabbed some of his hair and pretended to be on a horse. Potter was blushing an alarming shade of red, his face showing numerous thoughts. His embarrassment was acute and, if Severus allowed himself the thought –but didn't-, also sensual.

Given that some of Potter's thoughts were spilling out of his brain like an overflowing glass, it was easy for Severus to have a glimpse of them, voluntarily or not.

He, an excellent Occlumens and very well versed in the theory behind Mental Magic, was aware of the repercussions that came after forming a mental bond with someone. He was, right at this moment, staring at the results.

His mind was calling to Severus' own in familiarity, trying to get close to a known mental link. Potter's thoughts peeked out of those emerald orbs, similar to giggling young ladies looking over the balcony of their rooms, searching for a Prince Charming.

There was hope, nervousness, dread and a tingly electrifying sweetness that passed to Severus' mind and made his hands and neck feel warm with unadulterated attraction.

Potter's obvious… feelings were emanating all over the place, leaving those memories in the air for his appraisal, reserved solely for his viewing.

Severus picked up the memories without really registering he was doing it and studied them in his mind against his better judgment, very aware of the fact that Potter wished his thoughts could be seen by no one but himself.

The next words the boy uttered managed to pull Severus out of his…investigation.

"I'm sorry, sir."

Severus lifted an eyebrow. What was he apologising for now? Tripping and throwing out the material he was going to work with and creating a racket that managed to rouse the bookcases? Or making Severus test his self-control and struggle with his evaporating sanity?

As if invoked, Severus started to hear, under the slight stuffy feeling in his ears, the mumbling and sounds of wood against wood. The bookcases had started moving towards the young man, squeaking and making chirring woody noises, inviting him for tea even though they were not capable of holding a cup much less drink from it. Severus glared at them.

They stopped at once, retreating and apologizing with sheepish rusty voices like an old man's.

"Get on with it, Potter," Severus said, noting with imperceptible relief the perfect disdainful diction of his words, a contrast to the turmoil inside him.

Taking the ladder close to the wall, the boy moved it with crinkly wheels running against the floor, breaking the silence.

Not bothering to acknowledge him more than necessary lest Potter thought he was being _considerate_ again, Severus walked towards the private office he had to the side of the classroom.

With the rapping of the heels of his boots presenting a possible distraction, tantalising thoughts _still_ managed to perform a dance inside his mind, calling with sultry whispers and promises for the unimaginable.

He made a show to convey he was not to be interrupted, opening the door with enough force to make his robe sleeve flair out and sweeping inside, locking it with a definite metallic _thunk_, unaware that he was also pulling a part of the boy into the room with him.

He went to the comfortable looking, burgundy coloured sofa in front of the fireplace, sitting on it with careful, precise movements and leaning back, resting his head on the back of the sofa, looking up at the ceiling for a much needed introspection. Deciding it was due; he moved his hand to get a wine glass wandlessly, levitating a bottle from behind a cupboard, serving a hearty dose of the tasty liquid.

There, with nothing but the fire as his silent witness and his brown eyes locked onto a dark spot above him, Severus berated himself.

As much harm as this probably was, it was easier to dive a little into the sensual thoughts the young man presented, than it was to keep destroying his soul to the influence of actions outside his control.

How desperate must he be to resort to this.

Thinking back with the human instinct that dictated he indulge in a little bit of masochism, Severus began recounting the easy steps that led to his destruction.

The moment he realised the boy had outrageous feelings for him was after that class back in January.

Outside of the classroom, he had heard Miss Granger tell Potter, "You know… the Prince kind of sounds like Professor Snape."

He hadn't needed more information to know the boy had stumbled onto his book. Given the tone of her words, there had been something hidden there, something secret only she seemed to know. Potter, dunderhead that he was, hadn't come to the conclusion she seemed to have reached until much later.

There was no reason to have the boy keep the book, nothing that could possibly make Severus desire the young man to see the things written there. He had many ways of getting it back without Potter even knowing how it happened, but as before, there was a wild, passionate monster commanding his every action regarding the boy, so he let Potter keep it.

Severus had then been the subject of his adoring looks even before the young man realised they were adoring. He, being the victim, noticed that with a particular sharpness.

After the young man's initial, strong denial, the only thing Severus saw were green eyes that seemed to be acting involuntarily, glancing at him under lidded eyes, almost guilty of doing so. That changed when Severus, chagrined he could remember the exact moment it happened, saw those green eyes become more self-aware. It was the day he introduced the Shield Charms. There was something that seemed to strike Harry Potter in a manner so deep the boy couldn't do anything else but become angry at himself, glaring at Miss Granger for some reason and then looking up with a pout that left Severus pausing for a short second to stare.

He knew that anger, he was very well acquiesced with it; it was the kind of anger that seemed to reprimand one's desires. Self-denial.

Potter had looked upset, like he was chastising himself for desiring something so impossible. Despite that, he appeared to lose battle after battle in the subsequent days, attaching his admiring stare to every single part of Severus he could.

Despite what common sense dictated, Severus wasn't as bothered as he thought he would be.

Distinctive memories had made themselves a home inside his brain these past weeks of suffering; memories of having the boy throw him off day after day with big green eyes sparkling just as they stumbled onto his person.

Severus had an epiphany right there, with the wine glass almost empty and the heat from the fireplace as a grounding force. The epiphany took the shape of a jagged mark on Potter's heart, a deep, open wound, inflicted with vigour and cruelty, strengthened by harsh words from his relatives and carved deeper with belts, negligence and starvation. A wound still unhealed because of the hardships of his life as the Saviour with the heavy burden of the Wizarding World lay upon him.

It was a mark of insecurity borne from a lifetime of dire situations.

And still, with every reason to become a husk of a man, to become an insane, broken teenage soldier with angst to spare, Harry had looked at him like something very, very precious. Severus saw that. It was an important factor that changed everything Severus could have ever regarded him as.

He couldn't turn a blind eye to that. He should, but he didn't. He should reprimand it instead: stop such deep emotion from shadowing verdant eyes. Eyes that perceived nothing but the elusive image of the Prince, without ever knowing of the darkness polluting the insides.

Severus should do many things. He ought to…

Worse yet, he didn't have the strength enough to remain unchanged by it all, not when such a tempting creature was roaming outside his heart waiting to swallow him in another pool of suffering, suffering Severus was willing to subject himself to. It was the sharp, acute, confusing, dizzying suffering that went along with…

He didn't dare think it.

Ahh, how maudlin and predictable. His father would be so very proud.

It could have been so easy to disregard all of this, stomp it under Occlumency walls until it was just a memory long forgotten, nothing but a broken mess of epiphanies and feelings that weren't meant to be. He had done that once before.

But it was not an easy task, not when Potter had surprised him once again on Saturday night, fumbling with his robes pockets and taking out a very familiar, dusty and well used book. He had touched and embraced and caressed it with quiet care, and Severus, even knowing the book was in Potter's possession, never thought he would see the young man making it known. Ever.

Those eyes brimming with happiness were slowly hitting at his resolve. They were emerald and so like his mother's but marvellously different in everything they carried.

How could Severus, after causing suffering and pain and _death_, escape from that sweet mercy, lying right at his feet in the form of an innocent proposition?

How could he just avoid this? How could he turn his back on such an opportunity? The opportunity to give pleasure, to satisfy desires, to give contentment instead of pain, misery and disappointment.

Severus was only human.

He put his head in his hands then, the memories still dancing around him, as if insistent to be carved into his everything.

He wanted Harry Potter to smile like that again.

He wanted Harry Potter to smile _at him_ like that again.

It was very simple.

This conclusion had gotten dangerously close the moment erotic thoughts spilled from the young man's mind on Friday night, undulating in the air with sensual curves and attaching little tendrils to Severus's own, plastering themselves to his more rational part.

It had been an act of sheer will that prevented him from reacting enough for the stimulation to become physical.

How easy it could be, to have those smiles directed at him if he did what the boy desired at that moment.

_To get close to him and touch his nose with his own just to kiss him on the lips. _

To undress him and worship his lithe body. To hear him call out "Severus" and whine with desperation, with throbbing, sweet pleasure. To see his mouth in an "O" of wonder. To rub his everything and kiss him until Harry fell asleep with that same joyful smile on his face, solely for him.

But a little voice inside his head, the little voice of precaution, that old friend told him it was not meant to be.

He couldn't. He couldn't give himself the pleasure.

**-o-**

Severus didn't know how much time he spent there, with the wine glass lying empty on the sofa and his hands supporting his face. The light of the fire was still as strong as when he entered, but the heat it emanated was merely physical, his insides an ice-cold place that made his skin itch with… something. The contrast made him fidgety.

Severus Snape was not a fidgety man.

Disgraceful.

He had never been so confused before, torn between self-hatred and self-indulgence. Pondering on abstract concepts he hadn't thought about in a long time like happiness and contentment, finding himself disregarding everything but that very obvious path that would lead to pleasure, and smiles, and purrs. Physical contact.

He had been selfless enough.

But he hadn't. No, he hadn't. He couldn't.

Severus grunted. It was like he hadn't come to any decision at all, standing precariously between 'Yes' and 'No'. Like a pendulum that didn't stop, only going back and forth.

Not adept at self-pity, he refused to sit there doing nothing productive while wallowing in remorse. He stood up from his little cocoon of wariness and put the wine glass in its correct place, casting a Scourgify on it before going to check on the boy.

He opened the door just enough to peek outside, watching the boy push the ladder, a duster in hand. He didn't dare walk out and confront Potter, who would either demand his attention with his stupidity or get surprised, choke on a fly and pass out.

Closing the door and retreating again to the musty cocoon of his private study, still warm with the roaring fire; Severus went to sit at the desk he had there to start grading assignments. He looked at the small pile with a frown, very much aware that most of the scrolls were out there with that blasted dunderhead. This measly looking pile wasn't going to take more than half an hour to grade. It was better than nothing.

The material, however, was so ingrained in his mind he was capable of grading the worst of gibberish while suffering Cruciatus aftershocks and deep wounds covered by heavy bandages that prevented better motor skills. Given past events, this was quite the understatement.

He graded with a meaner bite this time, making it very clear how highly he thought of those blobs of candy he had as students and their non-existent intelligence. The red inked words as bright at the cherry soda students drowned themselves in like hyperactive toddlers.

He finished them all in twenty five minutes.

With nothing else to do, Severus readied himself and walked out to the classroom, snapping his inky robes and ready to tear something - no, someone into pieces. Instead, he found himself standing there with nothing but the whispering bookcases.

Frowning, he heard rather than saw Potter putting everything in its place. Dusters and buckets were being moved and knocked about in the cupboard. Severus, gaining momentum to tear into something, felt his shoulders sag when, from the corner of the door, the boy's head poked out to look at him, eyes widening.

Potter then made even more of a racket trying to finish and get close to where Severus was. In his haste, he managed to rip part of his robe when closing the door of the cupboard. With a piece of cloth dragging along the tail of his robes, he went to sit at one of the student's desks, directly in front of his own. Severus could only pretend to watch him with tired exasperation, going to sit at his desk without changing his demeanor. It seemed that the usual disdain that seemed to come so easily to him was hard to attain right now.

He sat there for what seemed a long moment, thinking of nothing and everything at the same time, his mind coming to a blank space that oozed of indecision. With a distant mind, he drank in the boy's expression, which morphed non-stop between eagerness, nervousness and confusion.

Severus' eyes swept up to the ceiling, finding Miss Agnès circling there and whistling a little tune. She flew in descending circles until she landed with a silent thud on a grey clad shoulder, receiving a quiet coo from the boy, who smiled at her with eyes that told a secret message.

Severus stared at them both.

Licking his lips, he realised that the foolishness he had been committing to since letting himself fall into the allure of the boy was not only getting tiring, but it also bordered on tedious and, were this situation a love story, completely grotesque. Not that he knew much about romance.

Even right this moment, he was letting himself fall for Harry sodding Potter, thinking of faraway fantasies and letting himself delve into what he promised not to feel anymore: hope.

But what harm it could make either way? Thoughts were just that, thoughts. The decision taken here and the following action would be the most important factor to secure his sanity. He might desire something else from the young man, but it would be his inaction at this point that would redeem him and probably allow him a peek at the pearly gates. Not that those existed, but still.

Preposterous, everything was. Just a few hours ago he had considered doing the unthinkable and reject the boy in a sugary, garish way. The means to do so lay in front of him, in the form of the twin to the parchment he knew lay inside the boy's trouser pockets right now.

So what stupidity was he about to commit? Write something short and cutting, have the note copy itself onto its twin and then…

Stupid, irrevocably and utterly stupid. Rash. Sloppy.

How could he think that voicing any sort of rejection might have worked? Acknowledging the existence of something else between them was worse than simply letting if fade away, as painful as it sounded. It was better for Potter, who was now looking at him, for once, with a blank expression. Severus suspected the fairy knew a good deal of mental magic, given her whispers into his ear, the tiny soothing hand on a pink earlobe. She was helping him.

Maybe she was also helping Severus, putting a barrier on the same things that made him get much closer to the brink of insanity. It was much easier to let the boy go when he was looking so closed off rather than with that open, blinding expression Severus couldn't help liking.

Not waiting to over think the precarious situation, Severus had a moment of lucidity and decided to do, like many times in his life, the right thing.

"Good evening, Mister Potter. I believe you can take yourself out of the room now."

Full lips pressed against each other. The boy, on a subconscious level, must have expected something, because his face fell in disappointment. He looked down, his shoulders hunching. Then he mouthed something and stood up, pulling on his winter robes with painful slowness.

His steps resonated against the stone floor, his shoes shuffling along the length on the room until he stood at the entrance of the classroom.

Something must have happened in those short seconds, because Severus could just see the corner of the boy's lips moving, and then Potter turned back around. Big, cat green eyes looked at him with concentration. Severus was just about to question the boy for staring so intently at him when, blinking once, he almost got an eye poked out by a certain baby fairy appearing out of nowhere, pointing at him with both hands like saying 'Listen, child'.

If Severus were a lesser man he would have found himself startled at the sudden presence of the cherub, but the only sign of his surprise was another slow blink.

Miss Agnès gave him the most complex expression then, with a playful toothy smile and big watery eyes that exuded some sort of nostalgia, quite like a poorly disguised expression of failure.

"Yes?" Severus asked, looking down at her with a stern expression. From the periphery of his vision, he could see the silhouette Potter formed, a stark dark contrast against the yellow light coming from the entrance. Irony. He loved the irony.

Looking back at the fairy, he didn't have the time to avoid any more closeness until, with a swift kick in the air of her tiny feet, she moved further into his personal space and, placing her hands on his sharp cheekbones, she puckered her lips and dived in for a kiss to the tip of his nose.

Backing off just the tiniest bit, Severus could still smell the sugary, almost cloying scent of her body. It was of flowers and sun and leaves. He despised it for unknown reasons.

"Zis is a message from an admeerer, Sev'rus. _I like you a lot_, they say. I'm nozing but the sender," she said. Then she vanished with a pop of glitter he just knew was deliberate. He sat there looking at his desk covered in shiny dust.

Minutes passed. One, or ten, or thirty. When Severus lifted his head, Potter was no longer there. The door was closed, the perfect metaphor to represent the situation.

He blinked, inhaled deeply and realised he had held his breath for a little too long. Rubbing his eyes, he sneered, noticing with a pang the light of the moon illuminating the very spot where Potter had given his message via the glittery fairy.

How long ago was that?

Severus looked everywhere, as if the boy would suddenly leap out of nowhere and start laughing at him. It would be so much easier to hate him that way.

He had the urge to curse himself for being so stupid. Foolish, he was, still with his body on the chair and his arms as tight as wires, waiting for something that was _not_ going to happen. Potter was not going to mock him; he was not going to do anything of the sort.

Severus exhaled harshly; gritting his teeth so hard he could hear them chirring. He had never been so incensed! So…desperate!

With trembling hands, he uncorked the ink bottle and spilled half of it onto his desk. Grabbing a quill, he wrote like a mad man, throwing his hand down on the parchment and moving it as if possessed. He flung his arm down the desk, dragging the quill in that last letter and making a long erratic line that managed to cut the parchment.

Then he immediately regretted it.

"Bloody-!" He rasped.

He tore it up and then cast a spell on it, watching it burn, grabbing it with tense fingers. The little bright ball of fire licked at his hands but he couldn't feel it. The floating spot of red and yellow disappeared into thin air, leaving him in the semi-darkness of the moon and the torches flickering high on the walls while his hands touched the desk and covered it with paper ashes, amidst the glittering dust.

It was too late.

Severus could hear frantic, hurried steps like a stampede. It occurred to him that putting on a locking charm on the door would solve his problems just fine. He reached for his wand so fast his robe sleeves swept some scrolls down to the floor.

He couldn't cast anything. It was as if a little voice was screaming at him not to. He didn't. He didn't want to do it.

There was a muffled bang of the door and then, with his body still attached to the chair and his brain feeling like it was combusting inside his skull, he saw Potter panting there, standing right where he was moments, no, minutes, no, a lifetime ago. His expression was furious, surprised, livid, desperate, hopeful and heartbroken all at once, his face glowing with the fat strip of moonlight that entered through clean curtains, making the rosy tint to his cheeks and lips snap something inside Severus' liquefying mind.

"How…" He saw those pink lips tremble and then, fuzzy green orbs disappeared behind squished up lids while Potter cleared his throat in a tight, controlled manner that spoke volumes of his desperation. At least they could relate to that, being desperate about each other in the darkness.

"You…" Potter whispered, gulping. He opened his eyes, and Severus, feeling trapped with those emerald orbs pinning him down, could only stare at the young man now walking between the desks.

"Why did you do it? Why couldn't you just leave it?" Potter murmured, his calm voice conveying nothing his eyes showed.

"You are not one to order me around, Potter."

Oh, this was bad.

First he went around being nice to dunderheads and now they were strolling right into his personal space like seducing nymphs. There appeared to be a slight power play that was over as soon as it started, and Severus, blinking hazily, didn't even know when it started. He didn't even realise he had lost until Potter, looking down that button nose at him, frowned in a very angry, very dignified way.

"How dare you look at me like that, boy? What makes you think I won't give you another deten-?"

"As long as it is with you I don't mind."

"Stupid boy. Do NOT speak to me in that man-!"

"I already did though."

To seal his insolence, Potter smirked. He placed his hands on the desk, palms down and index fingers touching Severus' fingertips. He leaned forward, putting his weight on his hands, pressing onto Severus' own.

The touch sent him crashing into an imaginary wall. It was sensually scorching. He stood up as well, using his height to his advantage.

Looking down at their fingers, Severus had the urge to bite his lip. Standing up was not helping. Potter's fingers were considerably smaller than his. They made Severus want to do insane things like taking them into his hands and squeeze, feel the warmth there.

He looked up and caught intent eyes observing him, larger than life. He saw parted, full lips, long lashes and cheeks that begged to be kissed.

He was losing his marbles.

"Why couldn't you just let it be? It… it even would have been better if you made me hate you. Why wouldn't you?"

"I do not have to answer anything, Potter. I was merely doing you a… courtesy."

"Pffft. Courtesy would be leaving me to hate you instead of this."

"And what exactly is 'this'?"

He couldn't hate himself more right this moment. Why was he interacting with this deadly creature?

"To want something more."

"I might risk sounding interested; I thought you already wanted something 'more', whatever that might be."

_Stop that._

"I didn't! I was fine as long as I could tell you or show you what I feel. I was even hoping you could end my suffering by being an arse to me. But you weren't. And then it all fit in with this…"

Potter then took a moment to lift one of his hands and pull out a piece of paper from his robe, unfolding it from the little crushed ball it was and placing it on the desk. The letters there would burn themselves into Severus' brain forever.

'_It's not possible. I'm sorry'_

Potter blinked in what he thought was a sensual way. Severus though he looked rather like a puppy. A very good looking, attractive puppy.

Aware of their closeness and the open door, Severus realised he shouldn't be doing any of this at all. He should have done something to stop anything from happening the moment the boy looked at him like a juicy prey and walked towards him in that insanely tempting manner of his, all thin limbs and luscious neck showing through the collar of an old rumpled shirt.

Severus should have shouted then, he should have gone by his own advice and bolt the door locked the moment he heard the boy running back. He should have closed his heart off and throw the key somewhere in the ocean. He should have paid no mind to those long looks in the corridors, in the classroom, in the great hall, in his dreams…

And again, like he had concluded just that night, there were many things he should have done, and didn't.

He should have backed away. He should have pulled his hand out from under the boy's, creating the necessary distance to prevent Potter's lips from kissing his cheek.

"Please…" the young man whispered, big eyes looking up at him.

Severus was lost.

The answer to his questions was lying right here, but he was lost.

Taking control of his hands, he grabbed the boy's shoulders and pushed, seeing Potter's expression distort itself into panic and sadness and a melancholy so deep and raw it broke Severus into million little pieces. Whatever force his body used next was unknown to him, because it wasn't him doing the pushing, it was the instinct inside him, telling him to shut down any hint of humanity in his person.

He led the boy out, going around his desk with one of his hands on a grey clad shoulder, turning the young man around with gentle hands. Potter let himself be pushed along, his expression building up into something Severus did not want to witness. Instead he walked with silent, slow steps, passing between the desks towards the exit of the classroom. He felt pain in his other hand, which was tight in a fist gripping his own robes, the nails digging into his palm.

Reaching the door, the image of hunched shoulders and an aura so dark and sombre oozing off Potter and slithering into Severus' mind imprinted itself into his soul, carving itself into a painful injury inside his heart, adding to all the scars he already had there.

This one image would join the hundreds of other ones he had just like it: of backs turning away from him in defeat, disappointment and hatred.

Potter gave him one last look filled with something indescribable, something that Severus, were he able to know exactly what it was, knew he did not deserve.

The young man looked down, his whole being a picture of utter defeat.

Severus blinked, drinking forlornly off the raven hair at the back of Potter's head; his rounded shoulders and bowed neck, the tip of an angular jaw. He did not know what it was that called to him right that second, trying to make him reconsider, evaporating his resolve. Severus prided himself on his sturdiness, and the moment it ceased to exist should have disturbed him.

It didn't.

He was so tired of seeing this. This image of defeat. He had seen enough of it to last several lifetimes.

**-o-**

**Review please?  
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	4. Of metaphors and honest young men

**Title:** Thorny Roses Falling Wilted to the Ground.

**Complete summary:** ( or 'Peace of Mind') The only option was admiration from afar. To look surreptitiously from under his lashes until he had Snape's image imprinted in his brain, hoping this crush would go away once his heart realised it was a pointless attachment.

**Word Count:** 12,700+

**Chapter:** (4/4)

**Themes:** Introspection, acceptance, parallels in thought process (practically the whole story, but it's a little more obvious here).

**Genres:** Uhhh romance, introspection. FLUFF. And tongues...

**Warnings:** All the good stuff in life *waggles eyebrows***  
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**Beta:** YenGirl.

**Dedication:** To YenGirl, who supported me all the way down to my snarkiest, prissiest, more insufferable side. I had some rough moments writing this and she stood by me so this goes to her and the amazing readers that reviewed even after a long time of no updates.

**Notes:** Had a lot of trouble finishing this. I honestly rewrote the first half of the chapter at least ten times, and I'm not joking or exaggerating. Of those ten drafts, Yen read like seven of them, and only because I didn't want her to see some of the barbarities I came up with. This was truly a challenge of sorts.

Also, the chapter has been almost finished since a month ago, but I've been so busy and I wanted the chapter to be perfect, I only had the weekend (and not even those) to work on it. I should be working on a ten page essay right now, but I can't wait to post this baby.

As always, any leftover mistake is my own.

**It is also highly advised that you read previous chapters in case you don't remember what's going on. I shouldn't be saying this but...**

**-0-**

**_Chapter 4._  
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**_Of metaphors and honest young men._**

An old rusty bookcase near the entrance of the classroom blinked once, two rectangular shapes on the upper edge taking on the shape of thin, wrinkled lines and staying like that, as if it had its eyes narrowed. It watched the fat strip of moonlight entering through a gap in the burgundy curtains, casting a white light on Harry Potter. Behind him, half hidden by the shadows, was young Severus.

If the bookcase didn't know any better, it could have sworn the professor was going to attack his teary eyed, sniffling student and suck on his blood. There was a certain look in his brown eyes the bookcase had seen before. It had lived through enough lifetimes, so it knew trouble when it saw it, especially on young Severus' face. That boy had always had a penchant for it, even as a student. It was almost sure that Severus himself wasn't aware of his expression, given the slight lack of control –most unusual too- he had shown ever since Harry Potter arrived this evening.

The bookcase did a slight shimmy, wood old and loud, fumbling its way between the desks to scold Severus, the _clunk clunk clunk_ of its bottom edge hypnotic. If it had a head, it would be sure to shake it repeatedly; instead, the edges of its upper body curved down and into themselves, depicting hunched shoulders, squeezing several volumes of Defensive Attack against Horned Estonian Wolves.

Did they know how they looked standing there like that? So close to the door?

Bloody children and their indiscretions.

It reached the tips of two worn out sneakers, shifting its eyes to look up, staring at them both. They stared back.

"Ruddy boys can' bother to break the rules rite, can yeh? And so close to the door at tha'! Severus, child, what is h'ppening wid yeh? So sloppy…" it mumbled, adding under its breath something about humans and their affection for a good dose of drama. It turned around with difficulty, making its way back and grumbling under its breath until it felt the tell-tale rush of magic, pushing it faster to the wall.

"Oof, careful, boy!" The bookcase chided, voice strained and loud, like pebbles in a Muggle blender. It reached the corner of the wall with a slight thud, not having the chance to turn around and reprimand Severus again because it started feeling sleepy. Its eyes closed, warnings kept to itself.

A wand moved in a wide circle, causing the grumbling, munching and whispering of the other bookcases to cease. Severus put his wand down.

In the midst of the small commotion, he had stepped beside Potter, and now he looked to the side, catching the fading signs of a tiny amused smile before the young man looked away, hiding his face from view. Severus pressed his thin lips together, carding a hand through his hair, vaguely relieved that Potter couldn't see his momentary show of weakness.

Looking at the shaggy head, Severus could feel a steady stream of hatred building up inside him. Hatred that was not directed at the young man next to him, but at himself.

Grinding his teeth together, he turned around, trying to compose his expression into the well-known façade of disinterest that should be as easy as breathing, almost failing to do so.

He went to stand behind his desk, robes brushing the sides of other desks as he passed.

"Why are you always changing your mind?"

The question was shouted out before Severus could reach his chair. A ball of frustration swooped down on him so fast the words were out before he could grab them.

"The reasons are no one else's but my own. If you do not desire to speak, then get out. The door is unlocked."

He turned just in time to see Potter looking up at the door, his shoes making an abrupt shuffling noise with one step, and then another, the noise unable to block the sudden rushing in Severus' ears. And the world would end before he admitted out loud that he regretted his words.

A myriad of thoughts assaulted him in those short seconds, all of them weak sounding pleas to Potter. All of them drowned by a strong bitterness filling him. But said pleas inside wilted and died a quick death. The blasted runt was made of sturdier material, it seemed, or maybe of a more sensible soul, because he sighed and turned back again.

They stared at each other for a short moment. Then Potter blinked and sneered.

"I hope you are done now. Changing your mind, I mean."

The comment burned at Severus' insides, so much so that he could imagine himself throwing Potter out the door with nothing more than a flick of his hand. The frustration was so palpable he could feel it in his mouth. It stung that he knew this frustration, this anger, none of it was directed at Potter. He opened his mouth, and then snapped it closed, too focused on his thoughts to catch the surprised blink of Potter's green eyes and too distracted to know what that meant. Because surely, Professor Snape was not one to go back on his thoughts. He was not one to do such inane things like opening and closing his mouth like a fish.

May Merlin grab Severus' soul, drag him through the metaphysical pits of the afterlife and bring him back again, because Potter was right. The inner turmoil boiling behind his protective Occlumency walls had seeped out against his every measure, and he had acted in ways he never would have fathomed could be used to describe him. Veering between one impulse and another, he might as well dance naked under the moonlight with flowers in his hair; it would have been less humiliating.

In that moment, with the young man's derision dropped on his head like a bomb, accompanied by those bright eyes shedding a light on his carelessness, did he dare to think '_Maybe Potter is driving me crazy'_.

He pursed his lips, contemplating the truth presented to him, aided by Potter's scrutiny. The boy was not looking at him as a teacher, but as a man. It did not matter that Severus had seen a similar look before; Potter always had problems placing him in a position of authority after all. It was different now, much more different; Potter was not a twelve year old fuming at an unfairly given detention.

Both of them stayed silent for a moment. Severus too immersed in the implications behind his stupidity and erratic behaviour and Potter probably too stunned at what he had just seen.

Potter was not to be deterred for long, however, blinking several times and opening his pouty mouth to from half-shouted words, which sounded quite fuzzy, if Severus was honest.

"AND I have the desire to speak, but you are not answering my questions!"

Potter's voice, Severus thought, was not the voice of a boy.

He blinked. His sanity was giving up, he realised; meagre strays of coherency screaming their last breath. This was the final blessed calm he had been striving for since earlier tonight. A quiet simmering breeze after the thunderstorm in his insides. All that indecision from a few minutes ago felt like an unnecessary, foolish exaggeration.

Maybe he _was_ going crazy, maybe he had reached a final decision without knowing he had. Maybe it was just like any other 'duty as a spy' day, where strain met numbness.

"Your question did not merit an answer," Severus retorted, eyes heavy lidded, his voice equally fuzzy, like he had cotton stuffed in his ears. Then he realised what he said, and slapped himself inside his head.

This propensity to talk before he thought was going to be the death of him. The permanent fix of patronisation in his speech had to go, even though it was almost physically sickening for him to do discard it.

"Then how the hell do you expect we talk?!"

Every semblance of propriety was crumbling away. Proper, laid-back Golden boy with his animated air and clumsy extremities was temperamental and passionate and Severus, proper, regal, cold scholar was teetering towards a giggly breakdown, like a schoolgirl.

He was stubborn, cruel, petty, but he was an honest man, at least to himself.

Potter snorted then, probably at Severus' lack of response. What he didn't know was that Severus' mind was currently busy soaring into the sun and bursting into flames.

Severus noticed the narrowing of green eyes, displeasure evident. Had he been one of Potter's insipid friends, tears would have started to spill. Then again, Potter didn't look at his friends with such passion. He didn't send 'I like you messages' to them.

He could see the roles reversed now, reality playing a mean card on him, with Potter the sneering man tapping his foot against the floor and waiting for an answer while he, Severus, was the stupefied, smitten fool staring into space. He smiled a little, inside his head of course, liking the irony in spite of himself.

There was a tiny, almost imperceptible crackle of energy then, like a soft wave of magic around Potter's body. Severus had witnessed it before. It was as if Potter's magic felt as strongly as its owner did, rising to the occasion, accompanying him in his indignation.

It was so sudden, so poignant. Severus, in the privacy of his mind, couldn't help but revel in it. _This_ was the emotion he evoked in Potter. It got stronger the moment Potter moved, but not away, not out the door, just closer to him. All angry steps, hands balled into fists and softly rippling robes. Once he was right in front of Severus, the magic felt almost tangible, surrounding them. If emotions could be touched, then what he was feeling right now around him was anger.

Just a few minutes ago Potter had stood here, but it hadn't felt like this. Was Severus so sloppy he managed to snap Harry Potter's patience?

The proof lay here. Potter, still, headstrong and tactful like a troll in Potions class, soldiered on.

"Well, I'm waiting for an answer."

Severus saw the insolence, even more palpable now that Potter was so close. He himself expected, for the briefest of moments, that bite that had always come so easily to his aid before, expecting to act on it like he was supposed to, but it wasn't there. It was absent, or maybe quiet, masked by the tantalising magic surrounding Potter.

Maybe it was dead.

It felt enlightening, so much that it bordered on the uncomfortable. The change was almost too much. Severus should be indignant, or nervous. He should strengthen his mental walls. He should be sensible. He should be many things.

He opened his mouth.

"I realise the situation we find ourselves in is not adequate, much less common. From this moment on, and to show my willingness to fix this, I will try to cease antagonizing you. However, the least I can ask is for a modicum of respect. Not from a student, but from a man."

Potter gasped, mouth going slack with stupefaction. He sputtered next, round eyes incredulous, magic slack with the same surprise. Severus caressed the feeling for a short second, almost delirious to realise what he was doing.

"With that said, I expect we can talk like civilised people. I don't have the obligation to put up with your shouts and squeals, because I am not making you the recipient of the same treatment."

He took his time next, moving to take his seat, almost gliding down the short distance. Now that the turmoil threatening to sweep him away was gone, blessedly replaced by Potter's magic making a fluttering breeze the young man seemed unaware of, he could take better control of his actions.

"I am not going to stand for any child's play in this room, so the first question will be to ascertain if your declaration of… attraction was a joke."

It was dangerous to admit he had to know, because he knew Potter was smart enough to detect the implicit question behind his words. Was this question a declaration of something too?

The next words however, stomped on his earlier assumption. It was more than likely Potter's magic was clogging his brain cells, clouding his judgment.

"Why would you consider talking to me again if you think this is a prank?! I… I thought you hated my guts, I hoped for nothing, but if you think I would do _that_..."

The boy's incredulity, accompanied by a very interesting looking pout, morphed quickly into a simmering sadness, presented in dark eyelashes hiding his eyes and a downturn to pink lips. The magic flattened, lying at their feet, imitating the feeling.

Everything happened so fast Snape barely had the time to tack on an exasperated expression and he marvelled because apparently, Potter _did_ care about what he thought.

He shook his head. The implications behind that made him think outrageous things, caress outrageous possibilities. But Severus was a proud man, and he would manoeuvre around this without having to apologise. In fact, he would make it so that Potter had the need himself.

"In all the years we have met each other, Potter, I have been nothing but the recipient of your hatred. Yes, it was more than mutual, but you cannot expect this well-established… _dynamic_ between us disappear at your romantic words without me thinking there was an ulterior motive behind them. You have given me no reason to believe your words were absolutely honest this time."

Potter shut his mouth, looking guilty.

"I am here, talking with you, commiserating, having the knowledge that this could get me in a lot of trouble if your intentions are not what you claim them to be. I think you can answer the question without a fuss, knowing I will still be at a disadvantage".

Potter looked down, biting his lip in remorse.

"You are right, s… You are right. I'm sorry. And no! It… it's not a joke. I don't joke about those things. I'm not that cruel! I know I haven't given you reason. But you also don't know me. I still... You make me so angry but I still like you a lot!"

The last part came as a squeak, and Potter hid behind his bangs, blushing scarlet, magic trembling in embarrassment. Severus had the sudden urge to...

"What did I tell you about shouting and squeaking, Potter?"

Said young man huffed in a mixture of exasperation and self-consciousness, ready to catch any way out of his embarrassment. He was so red in the cheeks Severus smiled, unworried, for once, if he was seen.

"Maybe we weren't made to talk!"

Severus saw a pink tongue lick a plump bottom lip, and he was flooded with the sensation it would make if he traced the same path with his own. It was a startling thought, and an even more startling image, so much so he almost sputtered, grabbing the last remnants of his hesitation as they vanished with that statement, thin hands twitching in his lap.

Did Potter realise how that sounded? How tempting and sinful it was to his ears?

Severus gulped right then, speechless. The magic was abating, and the memory was sucked out of his mind, bringing the certainty that the delicious mental image was not his own, but Potter's.

The part of him, deep in the recesses of his mind, that still considered rejecting Potter, was struck dead. The one that toyed with the idea of pulling himself away from the pool of raw passion clouding his senses; that told him this was not allowed; he was a grown man and Potter was a teenager.

The voice that whispered a quiet but scorching mantra of "_I went to school with his parents. Potter can do so much better. He can do so much better than a man like myself."_

It was all gone, replaced by something he hadn't indulged in in many years. Something that men condemned, something he had been deprived of since becoming a Death Eater.

Selfishness. It was what he was feeling. Unaltered, straightforward and razor-sharp.

For the first time in many years, he was going to do what he wanted. Not what was ordered of him. Not for _the greater good_, or for the world, or the school, the Headmaster or the students, but for himself. He would the taste droplets of freedom offered by Potter's honest attraction, hidden behind those ageless green eyes, the ones that made him admit it. Admit Potter's attraction was more than reciprocated.

"What do you suggest then?"

His voice was still fuzzy. With the way things were going, in no time at all he would be writing love poems and collecting flowers for necklaces.

Potter exhaled, red around the ears, lifting his face up. His robes still moved with his magic, but he was calm now, the movement of the fabric more like a very soft breeze playing with them. Severus' own magic hadn't made much of a racket until now, just throbbing under his skin, around his ears and the tips of his fingers. The thought of his magic arising to the surface because of Potter should have been quite a surprise, but it wasn't.

"I'm still kind of angry at you, you know?" the young man whispered, almost afraid the admission was going to be met with a reprimand, or of a door closing and suddenly finding himself outside the classroom. Maybe he thought Severus was immersed in a precarious state of mind. Maybe he felt this could be an illusion.

"I've been angry at you for even longer," Severus retorted.

A deep laugh escaped pink lips.

"Good thing it doesn't look like it anymore. Unless that expression you have is directed at me specifically. Are you doing it on purpose? I always see you so closed off except when you are angry at me and at life in general."

Severus pursed his lips. His assumption had been wrong again, it seemed. Potter's brain cells were still clogged from his magic, preventing them from working properly.

"I see you are getting rather comfortable in my presence. Do remember where you stand, Potter. This may not be a normal… situation anymore, but I warrant at least a modicum of respect."

Potter blinked, lowering his eyes. He opened his mouth next, but it was not an apology that came out.

"I like you a lot."

The words always made the difference, Severus thought. They seeped into his skin, succeeding in the same quest that Potter's magic had tried to attempt, but failed. That it was said twice… thrice if he considered the words whispered against his nose by a tiny Cupid Fairy...

"Of that I am, unfortunately, quite aware. I believe you had just said so a few minutes ago."

Potter pursed his own lips then, but it was in question rather than embarrassment at his insistence.

"What do you mean by that? 'Unfortunately'? Is it because this shouldn't be happening at all? Is it because you don't like me?"

Severus sighed.

"You are asking questions like a headless hippogriff. No tact at all."

"And you are avoiding them like a troll, well… considering. I've always liked you and your vague non-answers that leave everyone confused. Do I make you nervous?"

Potter had the audacity to smile then, taking a step forward and leaning his body on the desk, his thighs touching the edge. Severus, in turn, ended up looking at a slender long neck, catching a glimpse of an Adam's apple.

He lifted his head.

His observation skills were rusty. It seemed Potter was not _that_ small anymore. Potter had stood there twice in the span of a few minutes, and it was only now Severus saw the difference.

"Don't flatter yourself. I've lived through enough not to get nervous by snotty dunderheads."

The blinding grin that ensued left Severus searching for mental support.

Potter bit his lip, still grinning, leaning his head to the side, then he looked up with longing. Sharp and breath-taking.

"I like you a lot. You don't even know how much. I… I like you and…"

Severus lowered his eyelids. He inched towards the desk, pressing the front of his own thighs against it.

"You lack elegance."

"I don't care. I… you don't care either. Why mention useless stuff? Why not just…?"

Potter moved his hands, motioning vaguely at the general space between them.

"You may fancy yourself all-knowing in this situation, but I don't think you are ready to do anything if you are not able to complete a single sentence."

"Then, do you like me?"

"Let me humour you for a moment. What makes you think that?"

Potter did not say anything, staring at him with that same longing, now washed with sombreness, half-heated at best. He was trying so hard to take this seriously and failing, looking the man up and down with an intense headiness, his magic rearing up like a serpent once more, coiling around Severus with an almost imperceptible hiss.

"I can't look at you without wanting… I can't look at you because the moment I do, you drive me crazy. You make me angry and sad and so desperate I could just…"

Those green eyes shone with promise, with those same memories and fantasies Severus saw just a few hours ago. Potter was not able to express them verbally, but his eyes did.

"You could just what?"

His eyes roamed the entirety of Potter's body, as much as the desk between them allowed him, and then stopped at his lips, parted, inviting.

Severus was falling. There was no memory of his hesitation anymore, no voice telling him to stop. Everything standing between him and the possibility of Potter being his did not exist any longer, drowned and muffled by his own desire, by the resolute and sinking feeling that just this time, he was going to do as he pleased. It was not numbness he felt after all. This was not another duty as a spy.

The next words made the final step, the beginning of his destruction; the moment he was nothing but a man searching for another.

"Please kiss me?"

It was rapture, that single request, uttered by rosy, soft lips.

Gripping Potter's shoulders tightly, Severus pulled, lifting the young man up and dragging him across the desk. Papers fell and the ink bottle tipped onto its side, splashing the front of his robes red. He couldn't care one bit. Not with Harry Potter in his arms.

He stood there for a moment, with his hands now splayed along a wiry back and caressing the soft fabric of Potter's school uniform. The young man knelt on the desk, panting with surprise, blushing at his new position. Given the height difference, he was looking down at Severus' intense brown eyes.

"You… have long lashes. Really long lashes," Potter murmured, fascinated. His arms lay by his sides, brushing Severus' own.

"You too," Severus returned. He could feel the inevitable, helpless shiver that cursed through Potter's body. It made him shiver too, something the young man noticed, resulting in a brighter blush.

Severus didn't wait anymore, gripping Potter's waist with one hand and placing the other one on the back of his head, pulling it closer to his own. There was no tenderness in the gesture.

"Do not regret this," he whispered against dry lips, closing the distance between them.

-0-

Harry was drowning, falling into a pool of dizzying pleasure, sinking deeper and deeper until there were tiny sparkling lights behind his eyelids. Maybe he just forgot to breathe, head stuffed with cotton wool and lungs drying out. A squeaky, blushing part of his mind told him he should relax, otherwise he was going to faint from the lack of oxygen.

He resurfaced to gasp, eyes squeezed tightly shut, diving back right after and offering his panting mouth not unlike sexual sacrifice, body slack and flushed, wrinkled robes splayed around him.

He felt himself float away into the clouds next, as if he was experiencing a new type of pleasure, the only anchor grounding him to the earth the arms embracing him and the lips attached to his own. Nothing beyond those things existed. Not the air, not the hard wood of the desk or the pain in his knees. Currents of sensation crashed down on him, and it was both distracting and exhilarating.

He was unprepared for it all, grasping weakly at his vanishing self-consciousness because he _was_ kissing another man, a professor no less. A professor whose hands possessed knowledge beyond the stirring of a potion and whose tongue was slaying his self-control, but in an entirely different way than before.

Said man managed to evoke in him the sharpest of feelings, streams of sensation traveling along his nerve endings and setting them on fire. He could do nothing but follow, always a beat behind, weak kneed and faint like a damsel in distress.

Or not quite distress.

They kissed for a long time, their lips moving against each other the only sound in the otherwise quiet classroom. The almost silent, deep sighs Snape let out vibrated against his mouth.

Snape chose that moment to pull apart, the wet smacking sound of their lips separating traveling along Harry's body, making his toes curl. The moment was so brief, but the feeling so excruciatingly sharp it pulled Harry back out for a breath of air, realising how dizzy he really was.

In that short second where he sucked in air and opened his eyes, he was greeted by the erotic sight of Snape's long lashes over his pale skin and his parted, bruised lips; greeted by the intense, heady knowledge that the reason Snape pulled apart was to move his head to the other side, inflamed lips moulding against his own once more.

Harry fell in a splash of passion, drowning again, forgetting how to breathe, forgetting why it was even necessary. He was moaning too much and not breathing enough.

Then Snape sucked on his tongue.

The sensation was so strong, so electrifying. So dirty. It was like Snape was trying to suck the life out of him, taking him along for an outer-body experience.

Harry felt like he was fainting, body pliant under Snape's hands as he sank down onto the desk. He was a mere mortal, and Snape was the deity he was giving himself to.

The hand at the back of his head moved down to his waist, gripping it with long fingers that left goose-bumps in their wake. Harry found himself hoisted up, boneless like a rag doll, barely aware of his legs wrapping around Snape's warm body like they had a mind of their own; thighs against hips and crossed ankles bumping the back of strong, long legs.

Snape was carrying him somewhere, a tiny pant against Harry's mouth every other step. As they kissed, it occurred to Harry that things were going in ways he hadn't expected, but those thoughts were squashed down and shot when he felt himself pushed against a closed door, a body pressing against his own to keep him there. Then warm hands grasped his hips, squeezing.

"Ah…"

Snape lead him slowly, sensually, coaxing his mouth open again to slip a sinewy tongue inside, inviting Harry's own for a waltz. They kept kissing until they had to take a breath, mouths brushing each other even while they panted, their ragged breathing cooling their wet lips, grounding Harry to the earth, reminding him of his own physicality so closely acquiesced to Snape's own.

They started again not many seconds after; nibbling, biting, sucking, tongues rolling around together, wrestling not for dominance, but for pleasure.

"Hgn…"

The heat grew then, building up until Harry felt feverish. With Snape's warm body plastered against his own, he felt the heat slithering inside his skin, making his hands and toes tingle as if electrified and pooling low in his belly, a throbbing, sharp weight that bordered on pain.

He pulled apart completely, gasping in surprise while he planted wobbly legs on the floor, lowering his arms. He almost fell down, body tingling in shock, as if it had forgotten how to function at all.

Delirious and weak, Harry leaned on Snape, intent on creating some distance, embarrassment the force driving his limbs, which were more like boiled spaghetti by now. He groaned in shame when the man didn't move at all.

Harry hadn't planned any of this. He hadn't planned for Snape to kiss away the meagre control his body retained. The irrefutable truth of his hard cock in the presence of his Potions Professor sent his mind reeling.

It should have been enough to have him running away in embarrassment. Likely he was going to change his mind midway and run towards the bathroom, indulge in a lonely wank full of Snape and his sexiness and his wet lips just like a few days before; the only difference would be that Harry finally had something more than just a fantasy. But Snape was most likely going to follow him too, or maybe he wouldn't, maybe Snape was going to stop right now because ickle Harry didn't want him to see his erection.

He laid his head on Snape's shoulder, even more embarrassed, trembling at the waves of pleasure crashing against his sudden hesitation, increasing when he felt hands pressed against ribcage, making a path until they reached the low of his back. Both relief and dread filled him.

"What… no…"

His arms moved up to push Snape away, but his hands could just grab weakly at the clothed biceps. He panted into Snape's neck, blushing so much he could almost feel his ears melting off the sides of his face. They were so close now, and there was no way Snape couldn't know he was hard. Not when one of his legs was directly pressed against his erection.

The part of Harry's mind that was still somewhat coherent squeaked and burst into vivid lust.

"No what, Mister Potter?" Snape asked into his ear. His voice was normal, poised, like he hadn't been wildly snogging just a few seconds before. His hands moved lower, right above Harry's bum. Pressing Harry against him and _grinding_ down.

"Ah!… what…"

Harry bit his lip, panting against Snape's jaw while he lost all control of his limbs and his head fell backwards, thumping against the wood.

Snape moved again, making Harry look up, big green eyes catching Snape's own. He couldn't look away, and they stood there staring at each other while their lower bodies rocked.

"Does it feel good?"

Harry looked down again, blushing red and nodding into Snape's robes.

"Y-yeah…"

"I'm glad," Snape chuckled.

Harry could have sworn he had _heard_ the playful upturn to Snape's lips. That chuckle alone disarmed him. He could only lift his face and see for himself, the sight of those lips and the feel of hips against his own the perfect combination.

Snape closed the distance between them, but Harry didn't close his eyes, not at first.

He didn't know what happened next. He basked in Snape's stare until it was too much, the weight of pleasure –or embarrassment- shutting his eyes. When things went dark, his world began to spin.

He felt like he was stumbling, tripping on thin air, a body against his own. Arms were fumbling with his robes, fabric brushing his face. His arms and legs got all over the place, and they were tangled and he didn't know where they began and where they ended. He didn't know why there was so much to touch above him, so much heat and hair caressing his ears.

Then the tongue in his mouth was gone and the metaphorical passion pool disappeared. Air entered his lungs. He blinked a few times, panting, breathing ragged. His glasses were also a little fogged up, giving the ceiling a dreamlike feeling to it.

He felt a slight current of magic on his glasses and he could see clearly again. His mouth formed a small 'o' of wonder, which resulted in a slight chuckle. There was movement in front of him, very close to his crotch. He blinked several times more, suddenly aware of his surroundings.

When did he lie down? When did this sofa ever appear out of thin air? Where was the orange light coming from?

Harry wetted his lips, which still tasted like mint. They were throbbing. It was not enough to make him forget that he was horizontal in a teacher's office, comfortable along the length of a leather sofa.

Clothes shuffled and a weight settled on him. It was heavy, but not uncomfortably so. Either Snape was using a charm or he was thinner than he looked. Not that Harry could concentrate on that, the sight meeting his gaze almost enough to have his mind burst into flames. He would have left his head fall against the softness beneath him were if not for the magnetic pull of his eyes to the body in front of him. He gave a soft moan.

Snape was now above him, thighs on either side of Harry's own. His bum pressed against _him._

Harry gulped so loudly he thought something in his throat was going to snap.

Snape was flushed a lovely, lovely pink. Red, well kissed lips smirked down at him. His hair was tousled, inviting Harry's fingers for a slow caress.

Emerald eyes roamed the entirety of Snape's body, drinking up the scenery, presenting Harry with things he didn't know could be considered sexy, like waist coats. The man was in the process of unbuttoning three lonely black shirt buttons, long fingers flicking them open. Harry didn't know opening a shirt could be so erotic. He didn't know the sight of a pale neck against a black shirt could make him go bonkers.

"Are you enjoying yourself, Mister Potter?"

"Oh, God."

It was so sinful, the name rolling off those lips, wet and shiny because Harry had tasted them. The thought was almost as arousing as the act.

He should ask Snape to call him 'Harry'. He should ask for permission to use the man's given name. But it was so forbidden.

"I see you have a little kink of your own. Who would have imagined?"

"W-What makes you think that?"

Snape laughed then. Harry could live the rest of his life worshipping that laugh, deep and hot like melted chocolate on his skin.

Hands were placed on either side of his head. Snape leaned forward, black hair falling in front of his face. Harry had the urge to grab him, to pull him down and do _something_.

"Do remember, Mister Potter. I'm sitting right _here," _Snape purred, moving his hips forward.

Harry's eyes rolled to the back of his head. For a moment he thought he was going to die and go to heaven. He clutched at Snape's vest, reservations crushed against his hips lifting up.

But it was not meant to be, because Snape did it just once, sitting straight again and looking down at him. Harry was ready to sing his praises.

"Wow! That was hot!"

"I see."

"You… you saying that and then… Do it again, please?"

"You have quite a way to discard your shyness, don't you?" Snape said nonchalantly, unbuttoning his forest green vest without a care in the world. He was sitting on Harry's prick, face almost impassive. He might as well be sitting in front of fifty students as he gave instructions. The only things giving him away were his hair and the lack of his long black robes. For some reason, even without them, he still managed to look plenty intimidating.

Did Harry mention Snape was sitting on him? Black clad legs pressing against the sides of his hips and stomach. And his arse…

Harry's erection couldn't help but agree. He was sure Snape felt this agreement, because the man narrowed his eyes, that black gaze drinking him up.

"It seems you do not have much knowledge about control. I'm not surprised."

"I…. No! Please!"

Snape shrugged his shoulders.

"Very well then."

He leaned down, giving Harry a peck on the lips, so unlike his first kisses. He had an air of casualty, like he was about to drink tea and settle down to read a book.

The casualty ended there, vanquished at the sensual sight of Snape and his hips. He was looking straight at Harry as Harry trashed around, indecisive between the overwhelming pleasure demanding he close his eyes to enhance the ride and the image Snape painted, demanding he observe the proceedings.

He ought to watch the intimate acquiescence of his clothed prick against Snape's equally and unfortunately clothed arse. He ought to drink up the sight of Snape's hips, or even more fascinating, the image of his black slacks straining against his thighs and his crotch.

In no time at all, Harry passed over several states to finally sink knee deep as a religious young man, worshiping hip movements alternating between hard rocking motions and precise, earth-shattering gyrations like that of an exotic dancer; staring in wonderment at the mind-blowing sight of a cold, regal and stoic man working his hips like it was his day job.

He could not fathom how the tall imposing man beside the black board, with near infinite knowledge of magic and its origins, could move his body in such sinful cadence, threatening to bury him alive in sensations, all them sizzling inside his skin. The contrast of the professor and the man on him was near indescribable.

Harry's moans were loud, muting the quiet crackling of fire and the shuffling of their clothes. His orgasm hit before he was ready, currents of hot, electrifying pleasure licking at his cock as he flailed, hips trembling with the effort of his thrusts, fingers stiff on Snape's hips.

Seconds became an eternity, like time stopping nirvana as he keened. Reservations were thrown out the window as he tried to grind harder against the body above his, milking out his orgasm until he was nothing more than quivering flesh and liquefied bones.

The pain in his fingers was gone, leaving nothing but the warmth of the clothed hips he was clutching.

Harry went slack after, letting his head thump back against the arm of the sofa, glasses askew on his face, cutting his vision between clear and hazy. The sight reflected his feelings at the moment, so he bit his lips as he hummed, almost purred, drunk and high on the afterglow. Time passed, vague and unimportant, but he couldn't bring himself to care, content to lie there and listen to his fast breathing, heart beating strongly enough for him to feel it in his ears.

He was not panting like a racehorse anymore, so he could pay attention to his surroundings and see Snape bending forward, eyes closed and and those lips nearing his.

Harry heard a tiny exhalation, making his lips tingle, accompanying the entirety of his body. His half lidded eyes kept staring at Snape's closed ones, drinking in the long eyelashes and the pale skin awash with flickering orange tints, the black hair behind two rather small ears.

Harry hummed again, too relaxed to think about his hand moving up to caress a sharp cheekbone. With their mouths moving, and the deep quiet exhalations from Snape, it suddenly dawned on him that the professor enjoyed kissing him.

The thought itself sent a current of arousal straight to his groin, making his penis twitch in renewed interest, arising in approval at the idea. Snape pulled apart to shake his head and chuckle. Harry blushed in spite of himself, exasperated because Severus Snape, DADA professor, had made him orgasm in an office. A blush seemed unnecessary now, bordering on foolish. He looked away, pursing his lips, hyper aware of their bruised state.

"Ahh, to be so young," Snape whispered to his cheek, kissing it softly before climbing off of him and standing up.

"You… you say it like you are Dumbledore's age," Harry stuttered, feeling the loss of Snape's weight and trying to look for a distraction, valiantly avoiding looking in the direction of the fireplace, lest he stumble again upon the sight of Snape's tented trousers. His heart beat a little faster, erratic between an acute grounding giddiness and the exertion of his desperate fumbling with Snape's arse.

Should he do something? Should he help?

Snape cocked his head to one side, taking his vest off and folding it in half, placing it with long, elegant fingers on a chair beside the sofa. Harry was ambushed with the implications behind that and the exasperation of seeing the man, who just had a handful of trashing teenager a few minutes ago, still looking like he could be doing the most boring thing on the planet. Harry looked down, gulping because no, Snape was quite hard.

It was very interesting.

Another shot of pleasure straight down to his groin and he opened his mouth.

"Ummm….do you- doyouwantmetohelpwiththat?"

A trembling finger pointed in the general direction of Snape's lower body, then said finger hid behind teeth. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, trying to make a decision, pick between the acute tingling at the thought of Snape with a hard on and the dread of where that could lead to.

The sound of soft footsteps ended near the sofa. A hand touched his cheek, then warm lips replaced it.

"Is this a one-time thing for you?"

Harry's eyes snapped open. Snape was kneeling on the floor beside him, eyes intent.

"No!"

"No?"

Harry didn't know what to say. He didn't want it to be one. He couldn't think how it would be if it was. He didn't think he could survive thinking about the possibilities, the 'what ifs'. Go through the motions without knowing if Snape regretted it too, or if he was going to be mocking him silently. One more year of that seemed like hell on earth.

But he also didn't want to be the only one who thought that way.

It came to him that this... thing between them might have not been that well thought out.

"Is it for you?"

Snape's eyes darkened. Pensiveness and a touch of calculation washed over his face. Time ticked away, and Harry felt the scrutiny until he thought hours had passed when it had probably been just a few seconds, maybe just a minute.

Gone was the man with the penetrating, passionate gaze and the moving hips. Just the penetrating part remained.

Harry felt like his lazy afterglow and this moment had taken place in alternate universes.

When Snape opened his mouth, the words that came out were not what he was expecting, but as soon as he heard them, he understood the answer.

"You make me selfish."

Harry laughed then, something akin to mirth and contentment bubbling up inside him. When he replied, he knew Snape was going to understand too.

"You make me selfish too."

-o-

Snape stood up, walking over to a chair where his robes lay and putting them on, not bothering to fix his rumpled shirt. He returned to Harry, taking his smaller hands and pulling him up into his arms, embracing him with tenderness, different from the strong, passionate movements of their little tryst. Just as Harry felt a peck on his lips, he also felt a slight breeze inside his trousers, relieving him from the sticky feeling of his orgasm.

Harry placed his arms on a muscled chest, shivering, receiving kiss after kiss until something about curfew was murmured into his ear.

Someone moved the floor again, making him stumble as Snape helped him into his school robes, languid tongue entering his mouth once or twice, hands roaming his body as he blushed.

The tingle of another cleaning charm washed over him, followed by a deep voice whispering an apology into his ear, something to do with red ink. Harry didn't know what the man was talking about, couldn't concentrate on anything when a tongue was licking at his lips. His legs were like jelly, a great source of embarrassment that flew out the window when he felt a hand on his waist and another on his outstretched hand.

Snape lead him out of his office and towards the exit of the classroom, scoffing at the little rusty bookcase that had reprimanded them earlier tonight.

"The bookcase sounded like it knew you. It even called you 'young Severus'," Harry said, acting casual.

"That bookcase housed books the Headmaster used as a student. It calls him 'young Al' too. Or are you implying I'm too old to be called 'young'?"

Harry snorted.

"Noou… I just meant he sounded like you two were close, because he mentioned something about rule breaking… and how sloppy you were."

Brown eyes narrowed.

"I hope you will not take my past actions as a teenager as an excuse to partake in even more rule-breaking."

"I don't need an excuse," Harry shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head as if to make it clear it was the most obvious thing, adding a playful look from under his lashes.

Snape grabbed his cheek, moving his hand down, thumb tracing his jaw line.

"No, you don't."

Harry looked down. There had been something in the bookcase's words that sounded odd. It didn't dawn on him until now.

"It didn't look that surprised about us…"

Snape didn't say anything so Harry peeked up. The man looked confused, or as confused as it was acceptable for him, with a lifted eyebrow and nothing more.

"What do you mean?"

"Well. I'm sure it knew what was going on. The whole student-teacher thing…"

"Are you suggesting you are not the first student I kiss?"

"NO! No! I mean… how can I know? And… _you aren't old_. I'm sure you were a professor of students just a few years younger than you at one time. But I can't know! I wasn't implying that you were some sort of… teacher that went around kissing students. Fuck, now I made it sound awful. Oh God… I didn't mean it that way, I swear. I just… I don't… I mean… I don't know why I said that. I'm sorry. Please don't change your mind! Plea-"

Snape lifted a hand and placed his index finger on Harry's lips. Considering Harry could have gotten his face full of a closed door, this was a relief.

"So you don't think I've kissed other students?"

A very short term relief it seemed, because that voice was cold now, making Harry realise he had said something incredibly stupid and dangerous. The hand touching the side of his neck and the finger on his lips disappeared. Snape stood straight.

Harry might not be a small teenager anymore (he was taller than most girls, damn it), but Snape was very tall.

"I… No. I don't think you have done that. I… don't want you to think I think of you that way. That you have no morals or something. I don't know why I said that. I didn't think, I… the bookcase was probably confused. Maybe, maybe it was just remembering someone else."

"So you are suggesting other professors have kissed students?"

"NO! I wasn't thinking! Please. I'm sorry. I say stupid things sometimes. And the way the bookcase said that I thought… my mind just came up with crazy stuff! I really don't think you would do that!"

Harry was babbling, wringing sweaty hands together, afraid of the sudden turn their conversation had taken. Why did he have to bring it up in the first place, say such stupid things? He had the urge to beat himself up with a club. He would do anything for a troll to have a go at his head. Could one transfigure a door into a living, giant magical creature? Harry was sure McGonagall could do that, but to call her here would require an explanation. Harry would have to make do with the door itself, hit his head against it until he got rid of his idiocy.

_Why? Why...?_

"I did that with you. What makes you think you are the only one?"

Harry widened his eyes. No… it wasn't possible.

"You… what?"

Snape sighed then, looking exhausted.

"Potter, despite what most people think, there is actually no rule in the Wizarding world or the school regulation that forbids relations between students and teachers as long as the students are of age. Many of them took on apprentices that couldn't afford to pay for their services and arrangements would be made. Quite medieval, the whole deal. Nobody bothered to change that. You are sixteen, or am I mistaken?"

Harry gulped. So Snape had. It shouldn't be a surprise. If a dimwit like himself could grab Snape's attention, then anybody could. Maybe Snape had had brilliant students on that same sofa, ravishing them as he had Harry right after their private lessons with him. Maybe they didn't even have to be brilliant, maybe they just had to be good looking… although that alone should have rule him out. After all, Snape had class, Harry had to admit that. He wouldn't go around snogging everything that moved.

He knew he shouldn't be thinking like this. Surely Snape was not the person he was hinting at. Surely…

"But, despite the offers I've got along the years, I've never done something of the like, if you were worrying about that."

Harry widened his eyes.

"You… what?"

"You are very repetitive. I have my reservations. Do you think I would go around kissing every student that offered?"

Harry wouldn't make that same mistake again. He knew the answer to this one.

"No! Of course not!"

"Then everything is cleared."

Snape moved towards the desk where Harry's winter robes were. When he was about to place them on his shoulders, Harry moved away a little.

"Wait. If everyone thinks it's against regulation, why would they offer in the first place?"

"Because they don't care about rules? Just like you. You did not know it was not forbidden, yet you still indulged in a session of frottage with me."

Harry blushed. "Is that what it's called?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry for thinking you would go around snogging smart students."

He hung his head low, sighing in relief when he felt the weight of his winter robes on his shoulders, hands resting on them.

"I didn't think we were talking specifically about the students' intelligence. Are you equating yourself with smart students now, Mr Potter?"

"No! I would be surprised if you wanted something with me because you don't clarify enough how much of a dunderhead I am and… I just thought you would go out with people as impressive as you."

"You think I'm impressive."

It was not a question.

"I… yeah. Yeah, a lot too," Harry murmured, pressing his lips into a thin line, blushing in embarrassment and exasperation. Snape helped him with each sleeve, then he did the sole button of the wool robes and cast a warming charm.

"Why did you ask me if it was just a one night stand when I… when I asked you if you wanted help?"

Warm fingers lifted Harry's face.

"Because if it's not, I'll get to hear you stuttering an offering again, and I might say yes."

Harry heard the smile more than he saw it.

"Oh," he said, fidgeting. Now that Snape didn't sound angry and there was no longer any reason to bash his own head with a club, he wished Snape would kiss him again.

The fingers on his chin applied the tiniest bit of pressure, bringing his face forward as that talented tongue entered his mouth.

-o-

Just as Snape opened the door, the little cocoon of warmth Harry had found himself in for the past three hours ceased to exist. The classroom wasn't overly warm, but the halls were chilly. Coupled with Snape's change in expression, Harry almost felt like he was just waking up from an amazing dream. It was only the faint tingle of his lips after Snape's speedy healing charm that made Harry sure he hadn't imagined the past hour; he _was_ coming out of the classroom after a lesson in frottage and not after a tiring task of drape cleaning, though he had done some of that too.

He tried catching up with Snape, but the man was taking long, purposeful strides towards the upper levels of the castle. Harry took comfort in the half-hard state of his prick, bouncing lightly, knowing that once he reached his dormitory, the sexual exploration he was going to indulge in wouldn't be the first of the night. Meanwhile, he didn't find any problem in showing his displeasure, so he pouted, not accepting of Snape's change in demeanour, given that it was not probable they would stumble upon anyone at this time of the night.

He understood the mask of indifference, but it's not like the man had to walk so fast Harry had to trot! He walked faster, eyes trying to dig holes into Snape's skull until he noticed the man's hair that, for all intents and purposes, should look anything but how it looked now. It was straight but for the slight wavy ends; otherwise perfectly groomed, as if Snape hadn't been undulating himself against Harry half an hour ago. Either he had performed a grooming charm of some sort, or Harry was just hallucinating. The shiny quality it had acquired after the man started to teach DADA was still there, making Harry's fingertips itch for a quick touch.

Merlin's pants! Snape was driving him out of his mind.

Harry lifted his hands, running his fingers through his own to tame it as much as possible, not sure if Snape had helped him there too, even less sure if there was any difference. His everyday hair was unruly enough; maybe trashing around on a sofa would improve it. And if that was the case, he wouldn't mind a repeat-

"I suggest you act your part, Potter."

Harry blinked, thrown out of his thoughts. That deep voice wasn't loud, but the halls were deserted, and the sound carried over to where he was.

He was about to tell Snape his rather colourful opinion about acting their parts, but they had reached the end of the stairs and the quiet but insistent murmuring of all the portraits swarmed his ears.

"Oh…"

"Exactly."

Harry coughed, hunching his shoulders, looking around at all the people in the portraits, the still awake ones curious about a student out so late at night. He adopted a chastised look, like he had been particularly naughty –which he had, but not that way-, glaring again at the back of Snape's head, trying to look like the professor had been particularly unfair, a quest that became more and more difficult when they passed along a few sympathetic giggling ladies cooing at 'Poor Harry' and exclaiming 'Severus, child, you needn't be so harsh about detention. Haven't you seen the hour? It's late!'

There was something about Snape being called 'child' that made Harry want to do crazy things like start dancing. He let out a tiny chuckle of satisfaction. He couldn't afford a grin, but the temptation was too strong, the corner of his lips lifting up. He just hoped they thought he was being insolent, or that he enjoyed listening to Snape being reprimanded.

"Sev'rus, what did young Mr Potter do this time?"

"The usual, Your Highness. The usual," Snape didn't stop walking, bowing a little in the direction of the portrait that asked the question.

"Don't let him up so late! That young man needs to grow! Look how tiny he is!"

Harry's smile fell.

"That's because Severus is so tall and imposing!"

Harry snapped his head to the side, eyes wide and mouth gaping, trying to locate the owner of that very male voice. He spotted a blonde girl in a very elaborate dress snorting at a doe eyed bloke with brown hair under a crown. The man seemed to notice him, oleo eyes looking him up and down. A single eye closed in a salacious wink, causing Harry's feet to stop functioning for a second.

"Oh, you shut it, James. You are only a painting!"

The man shook his head first, then tiny dots of hazel paint followed Harry with a knowing look, eyes shifting towards Severus and back again so fast Harry at first thought he might have imagined it. He blushed, feeling the heat right down to the tips of his toes, hoping not all of portraits were as observant as 'James' was.

"As if you hadn't seen his portrait already, Antoinette. It looks as gorgeous as the man is. Imagine how it will be once it's woke- ugh!"

"Don't you dare say that!"

Harry frowned, thoughts of a male portrait in a painting calling Snape gorgeous vanishing, making way for what that same male mentioned so lightly and Antoinette's strong reaction. Green eyes focused on the shushing motion she made, jumping and tackling James to the floor of the portrait so they couldn't be seen anymore. The tip of the huge pink dress she was wearing peeked from the bottom of the canvas, a distinctive clatter of what might have been a crown hitting the floor could be heard.

Snape had a portrait? Why?

"You are not walking fast enough, Potter."

Harry snapped his head to the front, widening his eyes when he saw Snape was ahead of him by about ten metres now. Hurrying his steps now, he caught up with him just as the man turned the corner.

"Snape, that guy with the crown said-"

A loud meow interrupted Harry. There, a few feet in front of them sat Mrs Norris, staring at them both like they were mangled, unappealing mice. There was some shuffling and Filch materialised from behind a suit of armour.

"Caught Potter out at night, Professor?"

"No, Argus. He already had detention with me. His… incompetence resulted in him finishing now."

Harry's mind instantly jumped to a single conclusion, but he couldn't be bothered to wonder if that statement was really an allusion of his sexual prowess. The thought was fleeting in his mind, not more important than the idea of Snape having a portrait somewhere in this castle. Hidden, ready to be 'woken'.

What could that mean?

As far as he knew, Headmasters and Headmistresses were the only staff that had portraits commissioned for Hogwarts. Not even the other teachers possessed one of their own in their respective offices, something Harry knew because he had been in almost all of them, whether to receive extra homework, a scone and tea to talk about his life or, more often than not, a detention.

Filch was following them now and because he walked slower than a turtle, Snape had to slow down his pace, giving small, precise steps that looked very interesting in a body so tall, or least taller than Harry's. A flashback of those same legs so close to his arose, and Harry had to remind himself of Filch's musty, oily presence beside them.

Snape didn't have a reason to slow down now that Harry thought about it. He looked at the two of them, noticing the familiarity, the subtle tone of camaraderie in Snape's long black clad body beside Filch's, dressed in dusty brown pants and a plaid beige suit jacket. If they were friends, Harry wouldn't know how to react to that. The him of a few months before would have laughed, mockingly if he was honest, the him now thought it a little nostalgic.

But Filch started talking; stomping on any positive feelings Harry might have entertained at the moment.

"Pity, if I caught him right now, I could assign detention. Too bad Dumbledore doesn't permit me hanging them from their thumbs. The previous Headmaster was stricter."

"Yes, that is unfortunate."

Snape didn't look like he thought it that unfortunate, but Filch wasn't looking at him, he was glaring over his shoulder at Harry, probably daydreaming about hanging _him_ from his thumbs. Then he turned his head and looked up at Severus, narrowing his beady eyes.

"I don't know why you would find it unfortunate, Severus. I recall you and the late Sirius Black always in detention. I might like you now, but you two ruddy children gave me a lot of trouble back then."

Snape acquired a dull, brick red to his cheeks. Harry didn't know if it was from anger or embarrassment. Probably the former; the notion of Snape blushing in embarrassment was too good to be true. It wouldn't surprise Harry if the man knew of the feeling merely as a concept.

The sight of those cheeks, however, couldn't stop him from remembering his godfather.

Questions sprang up inside his mind, questions he was sure wouldn't go down well if he shared them with Snape right now, or sometime in the future. Harry himself wasn't sure of his feelings either way. Sirius and Snape in the same sentence had never sat well with him, even less now after what he had done with Snape, and what his godfather would think if he was alive.

"You just assigned detention," Snape kept talking, glancing at Filch, head at a really low angle, then looking straight ahead. It occurred to Harry that Filch was shorter than the both of them now.

"Your memory is failing you, Severus. I remember you two running around while I was caught in the middle of your hexes. Yours were experimental too. At least Sirius' were more on the common side. I recall your student days as the seven years I spent an inordinate amount of time in the Infirmary, half of it with Madam Pomfrey trying to both figure out a good chunk of your curses, and explain to me that your spells were invented."

Snape didn't say anything, but his side profile looked the tiniest bit bashful and apologetic, which was quite mind-blowing. Harry's eyes were rapt on the play of his pale forehead and high cheekbones, gawping and drinking down every syllable those thin lips uttered. He had marvelled and resented Snape's stoic behaviour all evening. Who would think that caretakers and bookcases reminding him of his student days would get something more than an almost bored face?

As if invoked, an image of Snape's red, parted lips materialised inside his mind, proving him wrong. Harry gulped, looking down to hide the look in his eyes. Going by the repetitive, enticing memories coming back time and time again, he would have to go figure out a way to be in Snape's presence without thinking about the man with no robes on and a dishevelled look.

And thus he was wrong. Snape wasn't that stoic all the time.

Both men were still talking until Filch shuffled to a stop, shaking his head and turning in the opposite direction. Mrs Norris followed him, meowing until the caretaker picked her up.

"But not to worry, Professor. You two spent your time in the infirmary thrice as much than I did. And Potter here, I hope, is giving you a hard to make up for all the hexes you accidentally threw in my direction."

"Then let me assure you, he is giving me a hard time."

Filch let out a snotty, gargled snort. Harry turned around to glance at him, eyes landing on the cat, nuzzling her face into his shoulder.

"Oh, and be a helpful lad, Severus. Don't pass the detention on to me. I'm going to a dancing centre in Diagon Alley all this week."

"The foxtrot lessons?"

"Yes."

Harry snickered, imagining the potential awkwardness of a dancing Argus Filch. The caretaker glared back at him, eyes squinting like he was an unsightly creature.

"Very well."

Snape kept walking, not once looking towards Filch's retreating figure. After a bit, Filch's shuffling steps couldn't be heard anymore and the rest of the way was silent. There must have been something in the air, because Snape didn't bother walking faster anymore. Maybe he had forgotten he was supposed to be the angry, dark teacher with a scowl on his face.

Whatever the reason, Harry was grateful, walking alongside him. He peered at the few portraits to make sure they were snoring loudly enough before he lifted his hand the tiniest bit, the tip of this fingers brushing, for a second, the back of Snape's hand. The man turned to look at him, brown eyes half lidded, like deep pools of chocolate staring into his soul in such a way Harry had to exercise every control available not to do something reckless, like tackle Snape to the ground and hug him. Harry looked away, face impassive, lips a little pouty, pretending not to notice their hands brushing against each other.

They reached the hall that lead to Gryffindor Tower, and at the end, Harry could see the arch that lead to a little flight of stairs and the entrance of the Gryffindor Common Room. The portraits here were fewer, most of their occupants gone to sleep already; the snoring, mumbling and occasional laughter filling his ears as his mind wandered, or rather, stayed with the brush of his fingers against a long, pale hand, his thoughts making a confusing mix between the desire to get closer to the professor and the exchange between 'Antoinette' and 'James'.

He wanted to ask Snape several questions; many of them along the lines of 'wanna kiss me again?' and 'you have a portrait?', but they made it to the flight of stairs and Harry leaned in and peered up to check if the Fat Lady was awake. She was.

"Mr Potter! It's very late!"

Harry cringed, laughing nervously, exclaiming a "Madaaam" in greeting and straightening up to look at Snape with a guilty expression.

"Whoops."

He could hear The Fat Lady grunting, "Don't madam me, young man! What if you get detention for being out so late?"

Snape peered up as well, tilting his head in a slight greeting that for some reason managed to look snarky.

"He was with me, Madam. Come here, Mr Potter. I'm not done with you."

The tone was cutting. The Fat Lady exclaimed something about one being too loud at this time of the night, shrieking in indignation when Snape grunted something about the loud thing being her.

Snape's eyes landed on Harry, ignoring The Fat Lady's grumbled comments to gesture with his head. A lean hand closed over Harry's forearm and pulled him to a big fluffy drape. Then he lifted a side, almost stuffing Harry into the little space behind the velvet drape and the wall before following him there. Harry gasped, expecting to be engulfed by Snape's warm body, for a hot mouth to land on his. He could feel goose bumps rising on his skin, body tight with tension, waiting for something to happen.

It could be dangerous, very dangerous, but it was very late, and they were hidden behind the drape. No one would be able to see them unless they peered close. And if they did, Harry would be lying if he said he cared.

But Snape didn't move; his face still too far from Harry's, half hidden by the shadows. Instead he looked at Harry, then looked down, moving a hand to search for something inside his robes. Something creamy came onto view, the sight alluring, filling Harry's senses of wonderment as two fingers held the small square of parchment towards him.

"I wonder..." Snape murmured, taking Harry's hand and placing the piece of parchment on his palm before closing his fingers over it. Harry stared at his hand, then he looked up into Snape's eyes.

"You wonder…?"

"I wonder if you know exactly what this means."

Harry looked down again, gulping.

"If you know, and if it is your wish, we can communicate like this."

Snape held his hand still, looking down with an expression that was almost unreadable except for the emotion in his eyes. Emotion that Harry now knew could be hidden; emotion that he also knew Snape chose not to hide.

If only he could just do something more than stay there staring at Snape like a love-struck fool. Take the initiative for once and be the one to close the distance between them; thank the man, offer a smile of gratitude, beg to be shagged senseless.

"I want to kiss you right now," Harry admitted in a whisper, pulling away to place the parchment inside his robe pockets, eyes glancing at the hand that had grasped his before retreating, long fingers brushing inky black robes. Once the parchment was secure, Harry stepped close, taking the same hand into his own.

"The walls have eyes, Potter."

"Would it surprise you if I told you that I don't care?"

An amused smirk bloomed on Snape's face. Harry thought it would be amazing if he could make Snape smile like that again and again.

"I wouldn't be surprised at all."

Snape leaned down, eyes boring into his until their lips touched, their hands clasped between them as they kissed, lips pressing and moving against each other's in a warm, sensual dance. Harry hummed into the kiss, forgoing reason for the moment, or rather letting it define itself by the tongue massaging his own.

As expected, and sooner than desired, the one who exercised more control was Snape, pulling away to inhale in something akin to a gasp. Harry shivered, a distinctive side of him thrilled at the mere sound. He was coming to love everything that went against his original idea of 'Severus Snape', whether they were the quiet sighs, the hips, the small steps while he walked beside Filch; everything and anything calling him 'child' and 'young'. His red cheeks, his smouldering eyes and bruised red lips.

Maybe his original idea of 'Snape' wasn't Snape at all. Or maybe it was only the surface, a tiny array of things that couldn't quite encompass everything the man was.

"Good night… Harry."

It was so unexpected, so unlike Snape to call him by his given name, and as everything, Harry came to love it.

"Good night, uhm, Severus," he stuttered.

There was a shift in the air, a sudden quiet realisation that they weren't, and hadn't for some time, dealing with each other as they always had before. Potter was Harry. Snape was Severus.

Both of them checked twice before coming out of their little cocoon, glancing at each other and letting everything they felt brim in their eyes before walking out with a composure that seemed ridiculous given the place they were walking from. Harry saw Severus –Dear Merlin, he loved thinking the name!- give him one last look before turning and walking away; long black robes soon a black spot against the walls of the castle.

Harry tried to school his expression, gulping several times and breathing deeply to cool his mind and his body, crossing his eyes to and and see if his lips didn't look as they felt.

He started up the little flight of stairs, looking down all the while, sputtering the password and an apology to The Fat Lady. The portrait didn't move for a few long seconds, long enough for Harry to suspect she had gone to sleep.

When he looked up, big brown eyes stared at him with a very, very knowing look in their oily depths.

"Ma-madam… I need to…enter."

"I heard the first time, Mr Potter."

Much to his surprise, the tone wasn't scathing, or upset, or angry or indignant or any range of emotion he could think of that wasn't positive. In fact, if he looked closely enough, the corners of her painted lips threatened to break into a smirk. Harry gaped.

"Severus, contrary to his belief, is no more than a child to many of us portraits. It's quite obvious isn't it? How young he is compared to many of us. I met him in his first year, when he tried to enter the Common Room because Lily Evans had invited him in. Let's not even talk about you, young man."

Harry widened his eyes, watching The Fat Lady with a stupefied expression. The mention of his mother's name made his green eyes even bigger.

"For us portraits, even the oldest of Headmasters seem young, and we are very, very observant, for the walls do have eyes too."

The woman winked, face coming nearer. Harry could almost swear she was going to jump out of the portrait.

"But you don't have to worry, Mr Potter," she continued, her voice a whisper. "People as ageless as us have acquired a sense of discretion when it's most needed. You are a very lucky young man, because few see this side of us."

"But… this is not…"

"Forbidden? No, it's not. But you and I know what would happen if this gets out, am I right?"

Harry nodded numbly; eyes still the size of saucers. It came back with sudden clarity. The man praising Snape's looks was the first one, who was to say there weren't others? He focused again on The Fat Lady, a commanding tone taking over her voice, which wasn't quite as shrill as it had been a few minutes before.

"Don't forget, Mr Potter, because I'm not going to repeat myself again. The castle helps very few people in this manner, and it always has a good reason, a very good reason, so think why I'm telling you this."

"Why…?"

The Fat Lady ignored his whispered question, straightening up in her seat, looking much bigger then she was.

"Let's make a deal, shall we. Are you up to it?"

The situation was bizarre enough, but The Fat Lady, no, the castle was helping him. For some reason the castle was going to hide an affair (as legal as it was) between Severus and him. He nodded.

"Your little secret shall be safe with us so long as you try your hardest to prevent Severus' painting from being woken soon."

Harry frowned, confused.

"I don't understand, Madam. How do I do that?"

"Search for the answer, young man. And remember, the castle helps very few, and there is always a good reason, a very good reason."

The portrait swung open. Harry stepped inside, standing in between the little dark space between the portrait and the cosy Common Room.

"Harry."

"Yes?"

"This is for him."

Harry blinked, furrowing his brow.

The portrait closed.

-0-

**_Hogwarts, a History by Bathilda Bagshot. 40__th__ Edition, 1989, p. 780, Hogwarts Paintings._**

"_It is said that Headmasters and Headmistresses send in a commission to have their portrait painted right after being appointed Head of the School (…) there has been some cases of commissions coming earlier than expected, when said person is not yet appointed for Head duties. Although rare, it's not uncommon (…) it is also clarified that no other school staff may request a portrait of their own unless said portrait is either not to be placed within School grounds, or the service of such person to the School is of so great an importance the School awards them a painting of their own after their demise (…)_

**_The Art of Magic Painting by Karol Averin, 2__nd__ Modern Edition, 1990, p. 13, Introduction._**

"_(…) A painting is of such rare, careful magic (…) always in the midst of some controversy over its requirements (…) It takes a drop of blood and a string of memories from the subject, so that the Master Painter may mix these with the paint (…) to which the painting acquires characteristics of the original subject, even if dulled (hence why most portraits may always be slumbering)._

**_Idem, p. 17_**

_(…) A portrait is static, without life, until it 'wakes up'. This shall happen when the person the portrait was commissioned for, dies."_

**_EL FIN._**

_-0-_

_A/N: The concept of portrait painting was shamelessly stolen and most probably mangled from its original beauty from Life in Kind by Sansa, a stunning work of art that is miles ahead of this story in terms of literature, and it is only because of Yen's tenacious, beautiful beta work that TRFWG is not a hopeless disaster._

_*in a very small voice* Review, please?_


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